


Pour Out That Poison Inside Your Head

by magicites



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: (mostly) Canon Compliant, An utter lack of politics, F/M, POV Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Survivor Guilt, allusions to previous zelda games, alt alt title: everyone crushes on Zelda, alt title: How Zelda learned to stop worrying and love herself, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-06-13 08:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 83,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15360408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicites/pseuds/magicites
Summary: What does it look like to restore Hyrule?Zelda is many things: Hylia's chosen, the princess of the prophecy, the deposed ruler of Hyrule Kingdom, a scholar of ancient technology and local wildlife, and so much more.Mostly, she is a girl, struggling to find her place in a world that moved on without her. What follows are twelve snapshots of her life as she adjusts to this new, wild world.-Post-canon, romance isn't really a focus but world-building and friendship is.Updates on Saturdays!





	1. Zora's Domain (a ghost of summer)

**Author's Note:**

> One of the first fanfics I ever wrote was an Ocarina of Time fic about Saria. That was...8 years ago? 9?
> 
> And now here I am, posting this. Funny how the more things change, the more they stay the same.
> 
> I've seen a lot of Zeldas, but BOTW Zelda is my favorite. And that is saying a lot, because I have consistently crushed on every Zelda since I was like 3. I recently bought BOTW, and I know it's going to be one of those games that will impact me for a long, long time. Majora's Mask is still my favorite, but this is easily my second favorite.
> 
> Anyways, thank you Rae for talking about this fic with me and basically helping me plot it out. You're such an inspiration to me and I love you lots! To everyone else who may read this, I hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

_The Lightscale Trident, a replica of the weapon once wielded by Champion Mipha, glitters in the moonlight. It is held in the air by an unseen hand, pointing towards the sky in a gesture that rings of jubilation. Behind it the moon glows, its reflection folded over the waters of Zora’s Domain._

_Peace, but with a promise of protection._

 

* 

 

Hateno Village has not changed much in the 100 years between Zelda’s visits, but Zora’s Domain has changed even less. The sprawling arches and sparkling bridges, the very ones that paint her memories, almost make her forget that an entire century was stolen from her.

The giant statue of Mipha at the entrance is new, though.

Two Zora children stand at Mipha’s feet, humming melodies that Zelda doesn’t recognize. The red one, a little girl with a giggle permeating her song, turns to face Zelda as she approaches.

“Oooh, who are you? Mister Champion’s friend?”

Zelda casts Link a glance over her shoulder, but the hint of amusement in his eyes gives her no idea how to respond. What is she supposed to tell a child? That she’s the princess of legend, finally free from the Calamity to live her life? Or that she’s a scientist and a scholar, summoned by King Dorephan to make sure Vah Ruta doesn’t attempt to flood Hyrule again? Or maybe even that she’s a deposed ruler, here to take notes from a successful king so she can one day regain her own throne? 

None of those feel right. Not anymore.

After a few moment’s deliberation, she settles on something much simpler.

“Why yes, I am his fri-”

“-You’re pretty! Almost as pretty as Lady Mipha. We’re gonna have a ceremony for her in a few days and I know the song! Wanna hear?”

Before Zelda can respond, the little Zora girl bursts into song. Zelda casts another glance at Link - this one much helpless than before - but all she receives in return is a short exhale that would have been a snicker if given by anyone else.

The man who travels at her side is much more openly expressive than the knight who once gave his live for her, but he still isn’t much for words.

Luckily for him, he doesn’t need to be. He has plenty of friends willing to talk for him, herself included. The loud voice that calls Link’s name must be another.

“Link, what a wonderful occasion! You’ve come back to Zora’s Domain _and_ you’ve brought the exact guest we were hoping to see!” The booming voice reaches her ears long before she sees its owner, though there’s something familiar about it that she can’t quite place.

She does recognize quite a few of the Zora, just as many of the older ones recognize her. It has never felt right to be bowed to, least of all by a people who were never her own subjects.

But this voice? She has no clue.

She takes a few steps back until she reaches Link’s side. Even after all this time, he prefers to walk behind her. She’ll break him of that habit eventually. For now, she has more pressing matters to attend to.

An incredibly tall Zora man comes into view. Goddess above, he must be twice Zelda’s height, if not more. He moves with a gait that speaks of regality, but the glint in his grin is so warm that she feels instantly at ease. Like many Zora, much of his skin is red, but it seems to be a more vibrant shade than the other red Zora she’s seen. 

Almost like…

“You’re Mipha’s younger brother, aren’t you? Prince Sidon?”

He gives her a thumbs-up in one fluid movement. “How astute of you to notice! I am Sidon, the crown prince of Zora’s Domain. Am I right to assume that I am speaking with Princess Zelda herself?”

Zelda can immediately tell that Sidon is leagues different from Mipha. Mipha was quiet and a little solemn, like embers in a winter fire. Her brother is a crackling fire on a summer’s evening.

It is hard to tear her eyes away from him. She does not, however, find it hard to speak. Her voice, still a little creaky from disuse, makes a valiant attempt at sounding regal.

“That is I. I am pleased to see you again, Prince Sidon. It’s been a long time.”

Sidon approaches her and drops to one knee. Even like this, everything about him dwarfs her, including his massive hand as he takes hers in his own and gives a firm shake. His skin, like all Zora, is incredibly smooth and a little damp.

It reminds her of that ancient material she once found clinging to the leg of a Guardian, back before they even knew that Guardians could still move, let alone be possessed by evil incarnate. What was that material called?

Link has armor made of the same material, though with the Thunder Helm he borrowed from the Gerudo, he has yet to need it.

Oh, that’s right. Rubber. His skin feels like rubber.

Sidon shakes Link’s hand as well. “It is good to see you again my friend! Please do visit more often. Even your few remaining detractors are starting to warm to you. Within another decade, the elders will be so used to you that they won’t even glare!”

Zelda shoots Link a bewildered look, but he only mouths a single word at her. _Later_.

Sidon sobers a little. “Princess Zelda, please come this way. My father has been awaiting your arrival.”

With Link at her side, Zelda follows Sidon up a long staircase. Water splashes onto her exposed calves, a pleasant relief underneath the summer sun. She loves every part of Hyrule, but the ornate beauty of this place in particular has always astounded her.

The throne room also looks exactly as she remembers it. It comes as a relief to know that this place was untouched by the Calamity.

King Dorephan is larger than she remembers.

The sight of him summons up a memory of an old book she once read. The Zora grow throughout their entire lifetimes, although for the majority, only their headfins continue to grow into old age. For whatever reason, the royal line tends to grow incredibly large.

Would Mipha have grown as large as her brother and father, were she given the chance? The thought causes something heavy to settle in her chest and root so deeply that even Dorephan’s warm, watery chuckle cannot banish it.

“Zelda! At last you have returned to us. It is good to see you, my dear,” Dorephan says. He makes a few confusing grunting noises before Zelda realizes that he’s struggling to get off his throne. Sidon rushes to his father’s side, but is quickly shooed away.

Link breathes out a few chuckles. She half-heartedly swats at his arm, but his amusement is not unfounded. The sight _is_ funny.

Eventually Dorephan makes it off his throne. He makes an honest attempt at a crouch and wraps Zelda in a hug, one that she happily returns. If Urbosa was a mother to her, then Dorephan was an uncle. Where her own father failed to listen to her, Dorephan was always willing to lend his ear.

Never once has he made her feel like a failure.

“Truly,” he murmurs to her, “you have saved us all.”

Again, she thinks of Mipha, and that heavy object in her chest solidifies. Any other person would have cried.

But Zelda is not any other person. Her heart weeps, but this time, her eyes stay dry.

 

*

 

The corridors inside Vah Ruta are more than empty. They’re barren. The layout is exactly as Zelda remembers, bringing to mind the countless sketches she hung on the walls of her study a lifetime ago. They are nothing compared to the map stored on the Sheikah Slate, now firmly gripped in her hands.

Link did not relinquish it easily, but she was persistent. It was her tool before his and though she’s accidentally caught herself in a remote bomb explosion more than once, she’s eager to master its new functions.

Sidon lingers at the entrance as she and Link explore. His quiet hums filter into Vah Ruta’s main chamber and echo off the walls.

“I think I recognize this song,” Zelda says. “Do you?”

Link pauses, tilting his head to - somehow - better listen. After a few moments, he shakes his head.

Zelda leaves Link as he checks around another corner for any rouge Guardian scouts. She pops her head out of the entrance. “Sidon, what song are you singing? It sounds familiar.”

He stops. “I was singing something?” He hums another note of the song entirely by accident, if the surprise on his face is any indication. “Oh! I _was_ singing something! I’m sorry. I have no idea what it’s from.”

“Perhaps you’ve heard one of the children sing it. Maybe that little Zora girl?”

“Laruta? She hasn’t sung anything but the Champion Festival song in months.”

"Well, there are a lot of Zora, just as I’ve seen many Hylians at the Domain. You could have picked it up from anywhere, really,” Zelda replies. Still, she can’t shake the familiarity of it. She has to have heard it before.

She goes back inside and quickly finds Link. He still prowls as if he’s expecting Ganon itself to appear from behind a corner and attack, but the Master Sword is thankfully still in its sheath.

They make an entire round through Vah Ruta before returning to the main terminal. It accepts the Sheikah Slate easily and Vah Ruta trumpets in something approaching gratitude. Zelda issues a command to move its trunk. After a few moments, ancient gears whir to life and it moves right where she wanted it.

“I almost expected to hear Mipha congratulate you,” Link says.

Vah Ruta trumpets again, but the silence is quickly filled by Sidon’s strangely familiar song.

“When did you free Vah Ruta?” Zelda asks.

“Months ago, by this point. It was the first one I went to, though that wasn’t an intentional choice,” he says, followed by a quiet chuckle. “I was so surprised to hear a voice in my head that wasn’t yours.”

A voice in his head…?

“That’s it!” Zelda says, spinning to face Link. “Vah Ruta is working fine! There’s simply no one left to pilot it. Mipha’s spirit must have departed.”

It took two weeks for the Master Sword to go silent. The days leading up to its silence were odd, full of whispers that Zelda could never hear well enough to decipher. It would have been worrying it not for the contented tone it always whispered in. She didn’t need to understand it to know that its job was finished for their lifetime.

She hasn’t heard the Champion’s spirits since she regained her corporeal form, but they kept her company during that long, lonely century. Even trapped within their Divine Beasts, they communicated to her and to each other with a resolve that kept Zelda fighting.

She fought for many things. For her kingdom. For her fallen knight and the hope that he would one day return. But she fought for them, too. For her friends who never stopped believing in her, even after she had failed them.

Whenever Zelda felt weary, like her fight against Ganon was all for nothing, Mipha encouraged her to keep going. She had faith in Link, too, that he would one day return. That loyalty was invaluable.

“I wish I could have heard her goodbye,” Zelda admits. “Wherever she is, I hope she’s happy.”

Link nods. “I’ll miss her.”

“As will I.”

 

*

 

The moon is large and beautiful overhead. The chambers reserved for the leaders of the other races of Hyrule is still a little damp from years of disuse, but Zelda appreciates it nonetheless. Right outside her bedroom is a large balcony, spacious enough for even a Rito elder to comfortably take to the skies.

Or for a girl to offer up her prayers to Hylia above. Zelda can’t remember how many nights she spent with her knees on that frigid stone floor, praying for a power she couldn’t fathom until it flowed through her veins in place of her blood.

She doesn’t feel the need to spend hours in prayer anymore, but she offers up a single thought to Hylia.

_Please, take care of Mipha. Give her everything that life failed to offer her._

A sense of calm rushes over her. She knows, deep in her bones, that it’s a promise Hylia will honor.

Link stays in the room adjacent to hers. When she stands still, she can hear his quiet footsteps echo in his nearly-empty chambers. He almost refused, but ultimately he was unable to combat her and Sidon’s joint request.

An added bonus is that the Hylian royal family and her party stay for free wherever they go that they’re actually recognized. Link doesn’t need to save the rupees, but it certainly didn’t hurt her argument for staying.

He’d be happier laying by a fire underneath the stars, perhaps somewhere closer to Lanayru Bay. In many ways, so would she.

But she cannot deny the pure comfort that is a Zora water bed.

Sleep eludes Zelda for now. She goes to the door that joins her room to Link’s and raps her knuckles against the polished stone. “I’m certain you’re still awake at this hour, but are you currently in there?”

The sound of footsteps grow louder and Link appears in the doorway a moment later. He’s still wearing the plain trousers and Champion’s tunic from earlier that day, but the diamond circlet he’s taken to wearing is missing. “Did you need something?”

Zelda shakes her head. “I would like to talk is all.”

Link nods. “Should we stay here?”

“Let’s go to the balcony.”

Zelda leads him over and leans against the railing, her back to the moon. Link perches on the edge, balancing on a rod so thin that anyone else would have toppled over. If it were anyone else, herself included, she’d worry for their safety.

But this is Link. He may be reckless at times, but he is hardy.

Also, he has a paraglider. He’ll be fine.

“How well do you remember Mipha?” Zelda asks.

For a while, Link is silent. His face is illuminated by moonlight, but she is unable to read his expression. That isn’t a new situation for her, especially not during the past few weeks they’ve spent together since Ganon’s end.

This Link is a close approximation of her old knight, but he is not the same. He laughs more readily, his expressions wider and more sincere, but where she expected to relearn his mannerisms she has to learn from scratch.

Maybe he is closer now to who he was before the weight of destiny settled on his shoulders.

Or maybe he is someone else entirely.

Finally, Link speaks. “Not very well. I read her diary a while back-”

“-Of course you did, you awful gossip-”

“- _After_ King Dorephan told me to,” Link cuts in. “She wrote that she first met me when I was a child, but I don’t remember it at all. I remember a few moments I spent with her, whether alone or with you and the other Champions, and I strangely remember some moments that I wasn’t even around for, but I know that isn’t everything.”

“I suspected as much,” Zelda says. “I suppose I’ll have to remember her for the both of us.”

All she had for that torturous century were memories and the whispers of spirits to keep her company. Their spirits will pass on, but her memories never will.

“Can you tell me about her?” Link asks. “I know she loved me, but… I barely know her. I know that wasn’t the case when she was alive.”

“Have you asked Sidon? Surely he remembers her better than me.”

Link shakes his head. “He was too young.”

“Very well.” Zelda pauses, sifting through her mind to find the proper story to tell Link. Dozens spring to mind and she sorts through them carefully. One day, he’ll hear them all, if she’s still allowed to stay by his side then.

For now, she chooses to start at the beginning.

“Have I ever told you how I first met her?”

Link shakes his head. Zelda smiles, nostalgia mingling with a hint of sadness. “It was right around here, actually…”

They do not sleep that night, but neither of them have ever been one for a good night’s rest.

Zelda knows that Mipha’s spirit is not there with them, but somewhere, she must be smiling.

 

*

 

“Vah Ruta simply needs a new pilot?” Dorephan says, stroking his chin with his hand. “We have many capable young Zora here. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find a new pilot, although a Champion as skilled as Mipha probably won’t arrive for another 10,000 years!”

“There really is no rush,” Zelda says, her own hand drifting down to rest against the Sheikah Slate on her hip. “While it would certainly be beneficial to train a pilot should anything go wrong, their skills will not be needed within any of our lifetimes. If Vah Ruta needs any maintenance, I don’t mind coming here to check on it.”

It isn’t a conversation they need to have now, not when the horrors of the Calamity is still so fresh in her mind.

Link, who had spent the duration of Zelda’s report in a muttered argument with Sidon, speaks up. “Actually, I have a suggestion.”

“Link, you know I trust your judgement on nearly every issue possible, but you mustn't!” Sidon says.

“Go ahead, my boy,” Dorephan says with a laugh. “I would love to hear what Sidon is so upset about.”

“Sidon was the one who helped me free Vah Ruta from Ganon’s influence. He’s a skilled swimmer and is already familiar with Vah Ruta. I think he would make an excellent pilot,” Link says.

Well, it isn’t as if they hadn’t discussed it before - all they spoke of on the road to Hateno were the people who helped Link free each Divine Beast. Zelda had long since agreed with his idea that they should become the new pilots.

But it was better to back Link’s claim now than dig herself into a hole later, when she felt ready to broach the topic.

“I agree with Link,” Zelda says. “I don’t believe there is anyone else better to uphold Mipha’s legacy than Sidon.”

“I simply cannot accept!” Sidon says, his gaze darting between Zelda and his father. “Surely there must be someone else!”

Dorephan ignores him, instead facing to address Zelda directly. “You bring up a good point, but will he be safe as a pilot? He’s my only remaining heir, you know.”

“Sidon can verify just as well as Link or I could that Vah Ruta was free of any hint of Malice. There wasn’t even a single Bokoblin within its walls.”

Dorephan hums. “This is something I will consider further. With the Champion Festival in just a few days, I’m afraid I must turn my attention to that instead.” His serious demeanor quickly evaporates, leaving something much more cheerful behind. “The Champion Festival is a wonderful time of year! Please, won’t the two of you celebrate with us?”

Sidon seems eager to change the subject as well. “Oh yes! I know I’ve told Link all about the festival, but you really must see it with your own eyes.”

Zelda exchanges a look with Link. He would most likely be happier if they could get on the road sooner rather than later, but she can’t remember going to a single festival that she was ever able to actually enjoy. Every celebration was carefully blocked off and restricted by her training.

She thinks back to her royal dress, to its high, stuffy neckline and itchy fabric. The thought of it makes her skin crawl. She always had to don it within the castle walls anytime she was supposed to make an official appearance.

This Hyrule is not that Hyrule. In this age, no one else can have authority over her wardrobe choices. She will wear no such thing, especially not to a festival that she isn’t even a direct participant in.

“I, for one, would love to attend,” Zelda says.

“And you, Link?” Sidon asks.

Link nods. “Where the Princess goes, I go.”

Something about Link’s words don’t settle well with Zelda, but Dorephan’s jubilant explanation of the festivities keeps her mind from lingering too long. For now, she’ll let the matter rest.

They have a festival to prepare for, after all.

 

*

 

The following day, Zora’s Domain seems a little more lively than before.

The day after that, it completely morphs. When not chronicling every inch of Vah Ruta, trading memories with King Dorephan, or snapping pictures of every single interesting thing she finds with the Sheikah Slate, Zelda spends her time attempting to memorize the names of the Zora she meets.

Until she steps out of her chambers and finds the Domain _flooded_ with Zora, to pardon a pun Link would have been proud of.

Speaking of Link, he is nowhere to be found. She knocks on his door, but is greeted with silence. She doesn’t pay it much mind - he spent months almost completely alone, and he’s smart enough not to get into any trouble. She has no desire to be his keeper any longer. He is free to go where he wishes.

Nearly every Zora she meets (and struggles to remember the name of) carries a spear, even those without armor. She nearly stumbles over Laruta on her way to the throne room, if only because she’s one of the few who does not carry one with her.

She sings the song that Zelda has come to recognize as the song of the festival. Mipha’s Triumph is the official title. Zelda rather likes it, even if it sends a twinge of loss through her whenever she hears it.

How much more could Mipha had triumphed, had Zelda’s power awakened just a few hours earlier?

The day that Calamity Ganon returned, Mipha tried to explain to her what helped her harness her healing powers. Eventually there came a year when her spirit finally whispered it to her.

_I think of protecting those I cherish most. I think of my father, my brother, and my people._

_Do you think of Link?_ Zelda had asked, in a voice that Hylia had spared from Her divine control.

_Yes. But I also think of you._

All of the Domain is bathed in the blue of the Champions (the same blue of Zelda’s tunic and of Mipha’s sash, because shirts do not bode well for a people with gills on their ribcage), and the red of Mipha’s skin. Sidon would have easily blended in with the decorations, if not for his booming voice and the way he constantly moves through the crowd.

Zelda stammers out apologies to six Zora, three Gorons, two Hylians, and two Gerudo on her way to him. He sounds jovial, but there are flashes in his expression that Zelda identifies with all too well.

It’s the face of a person who cannot stay strong for much longer.

“Ah, Princess Zelda! I see you’ve found the festival. I hope you’re enjoying this wonderful day! There’s a live band right by the general store, if you would like to accompany me there,” he says, lingering at the foot of Mipha’s statue a second too long for Zelda not to notice.

This is neither the time nor place to comment, so what she does instead is take his outstretched hand. “I would love to.”

“And will our cherished friend Link be joining us?”

“I don’t believe so. He wasn’t in his chamber this morning and he’s never been one for crowds.”

“Ah yes, I completely understand! I’m the same. But for my sister’s sake, I can withstand the crowds for one day.”

There it is again. That twinge of sadness. His chatter is lively as he effortlessly moves through the crowd, creating an easy path for Zelda to follow, but she knows all too well the feeling of being strong for your people when you are crumbling within.

She may have lost Mipha, but she will not have to lose Sidon.

The Zora musicians are lovely. One stands behind a pair of steel drums, creating a beautiful melody with mallets that sparkle in the afternoon sun. Another strums away at a guitar that either once was a fish or was heavily inspired by one, and a third plays an instrument that must be closely related to a flute.

The song feels like coming home from a long journey to a beloved friend. Like a warm hearth on a cold day.

Like Mipha.

Sidon leads Zelda into the general store, where the shopkeep (whose name she definitely _knows_ , but cannot remember for the life of her) gestures to a variety of different dishes. “Welcome, welcome!” she says. “Please try our fresh chillfin trout! I marinated this blend specifically for today!”

“It’s exquisite every single year. You simply must try it, Princess Zelda,” Sidon says, taking two strips of fish from the counter. The flesh is light blue and sprinkled with a variety of green and orange herbs.

“Thank you,” Zelda replies, accepting a piece of fish from him. She isn’t used to touching raw meat, let alone eating it, but Zora cuisine is known for their raw fish and simple, delicate flavors.

They are also known for never using plates. After a century of not eating and two straight weeks of only eating with her hands, that cultural nuance comes as much less of a shock.

Sidon pops the entire thing into his mouth easily, but Zelda is content to nibble at her food. She can’t identify the spices she tastes, but they hold true to the Zora food she’s had in the past. It tastes lovely, smooth and refreshing in the warm weather, with a hint of spice that feels like a shock to her taste buds.

“This is delicious,” Zelda says, taking another bite.

Sidon takes another fillet from the counter as the shopkeep beams from behind him. “It always is! Oh, and there are so many other amazing things to see. Come, come!”

They run into Link right as he finishes climbing a ladder from the lake below, clad head to toe in Zora armor. The Lightscale Trident is strapped to his back along with another trident that looks nearly identical, if a little flashier.

“Trello dropped the Ceremonial Trident over the side of the Domain again,” Link explains, brandishing the flashier trident. “He promised me 200 rupees if I found it for him before midday.”

Zelda laughs, fondness bursting within her heart. She wouldn’t expect anything different from him.

“Classic Link! I love it,” Sidon says, but something about him seems a little forced. “I’ll gladly accompany you to see Trello. In fact, we just passed by him.”

“We did?” Zelda asks, struggling to remember which one Trello was. Was he green? Blue? He definitely wasn’t silver…

“He has grown a little shorter in old age, so I do not fault you for failing to see him. It’s perfectly understandable.”

They quickly find Trello, a blue Zora elder with a particularly grumpy face. He hands Link a few glittering rupees with a mutter.

The three of them - Zelda, Sidon, and Link - continue to explore the festival. The songs and dances are all lovely, imbued with Zora grace and embodying the essence of water itself. They watch trident throwing contests, sample even more amazing food, and even learn the steps to a traditional Zora dance that Mipha was supposedly amazing at.

None of them can confirm that fact. Zelda and Link never saw her dance, and Sidon doesn’t remember well enough to say one way or the other.

Despite that, Sidon executes the steps perfectly.

Zelda can tell the festival is drawing to an end when the crowds begin to gather at the steps of the throne room. With a short apology, Sidon withdraws from their side and goes to his father’s side. Dorephan stands in the center with Sidon to his right. To his left are Muzu, his chief advisor, and Seggin, the retired general of the Zora soldiers.

Zelda points to Seggin and whispers to Link, “Is that the Zora who nearly electrocuted himself to death trying to stop Vah Ruta?”

Link sighs. “Yes.”

“Is he one of the ones that still hates you?”

“Not any more. The King’s closest advisors all forgave me, thankfully. Wish I could say the same for every elder.”

Zelda looks away, overcome by a sudden sense of guilt. Link almost died for Hyrule. He expended every ounce of strength in his body attempting to fight Ganon.

Attempting to save Zelda.

And what did she do? Cast a glowing light and blow up a few Guardians after her Champions - her _friends_ \- had all been slain. That ire should be directed towards her, not him.

And yet every elder greets her with a warm smile and a respectful bow. She doesn’t want it. She doesn’t deserve it.

“-elda. Zelda. They’re calling us,” Link is whispering to her. His hand is warm around hers as he tries to pull her through the crowd. It would feel beautifully right if her mind was somewhere with more grace than the mire she suddenly feels trapped in.

“What?” Zelda asks, dazed. “Why?”

“To honor us. Come quickly.”

Zelda allows herself to be pulled onto stage, but Link lets go of her hand the moment their feet hit the ornate steps. Sidon flashes them a sparkling, sharp-toothed grin and a thumbs-up. Her body moves on autopilot as she follows Link, stopping directly in front of Dorephan himself.

“This Champion Festival, on the one hundred and first anniversary of our dear Mipha’s passing, is an incredibly special one. As I’m sure you have all noticed by now, the traces of the Calamity that once lingered around Hyrule Castle are gone and Vah Ruta, the protector and prize of our people, has gone dormant once more. I shall confirm the rumors - the Calamity has ended and Mipha’s spirit has been avenged!” Dorephan says.

The crowd bursts into deafening cheers. Zelda stumbles from the sheer impact of the sound, but Link’s hand shoots out and grabs her wrist, tethering her to the earth once more. She shoots him a grateful glance and sends a quick prayer to the skies.

_Hylia, give me strength._

“Before me stand the same Hylian Champions that withstood the Calamity a century prior,” Dorephan announces, gesturing to Link and Zelda. “I’m sure many of you, even those of you who now call another corner of Hyrule home, have met Link. He is the wielder of the sword that seals the darkness - the sword that allowed for Princess Zelda herself to seal away the Calamity and free our land of its scourge.”

Zelda wonders if her legs will still support her weight. She also wonders how Link can stand beside her with so much steel in his bones.

Maybe he learned that from Mipha, even if he does not remember the lesson. Like her, he stands steadfast in this storm.

_Oh Mipha, I’m so sorry. You should be here to see this, not I._

For a moment, Zelda listens, straining her ears to hear Mipha’s spirit whisper to her once more.

All she hears is the roar of Mipha’s people and the thunderous applause they wrongly give her.

 

*

 

The moon is high in the sky by the time the Domain empties. For most of the night, Zelda and Link sit on the balcony of her chambers in silence, shoulder-to-shoulder, picking off pieces of the riceballs Link made the day before.

The Master Sword and Hylian Shield lean against the wall, but the Sheikah Slate stays at her hip.

The Lightscale Trident lays at her feet. Mipha’s original broke with her death, but it is exactly the same in every other regard but age. The Zora gave it to Link as a momento. He normally keeps it in his house, mounted to the wall. His version of a portrait of a lost loved one hanging over a fireplace.

It felt right to bring it out today.

The prongs of the trident catch the moonlight beautifully. Enraptured by the sight, Zelda pulls the Sheikah Slate out of its holster, aims at the sky, and takes a picture. She shows the screen to Link. “How does it look?”

Link studies it. “Better than anything I’ve taken.”

Zelda laughs, but she does nothing to deny the statement. Fixing the awful images Link’s added to the Hyrule Compendium is one of her main objectives over the next few months. There’s no point in maintaining records if your records are terrible!

They finish their riceballs. Link licks his fingers clean quickly and methodically, even going as far as to search the banana leaves he wrapped them in for any stray grains of rice he may have missed. Zelda stands as his finishes his inspection.

“I think I’ll go on a walk,” she announces, stretching. Link moves to get up, but she shakes her head. “You can stay here, if you’d like. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Are you sure?”

Zelda grips the Sheikah Slate. “Between this device’s combat capabilities and the plethora of Zora guards that patrol the Domain every single night, I should be able to take down a stray Yiga assassin or two, should they be stupid enough to try to assassinate me here.”

For all Link’s worry of the Yiga, they’ve only seen an assassin once. They posed as a frightened girl on the road to Kakariko, screamed something about some Kohga man when Link asked if they needed help, and attempted to slit his throat.

It...did not end well for that Yiga.

After a considerable pause, Link speaks. “Alright. I’ll-" 

“-go hunt snails while the children sleep or capture fish with your bare hands? Sounds like a wonderful idea. I’ll see you in the morning, Link.”

He breathes out a chuckle - a real chuckle! A small thrill goes through Zelda’s body. Those are usually only reserved for terrible puns or when he’s cooking! Truly a victory.

“That’s exactly what I was planning on,” is the last thing Zelda hears before she shuts the door to her chambers and finds herself out of her small sanctuary. The uneasiness of the day’s ceremony washes over her, but the quiet night air keeps her mind from drifting too far away.

She focuses on the sound of her steps as she walks, letting the gentle rhythm calm her racing heart. The crowds are gone, but the guards remain, and she exchanges greetings with them as they pass.

Her steps take her to Mipha’s statue. Sidon stands at Mipha’s feet, utterly alone in a place that was bursting with life just a few short hours ago. He is dwarfed by his sister’s figure.

Funny how the only people who can make him look small are his family. Between Dorephan’s single-handed protection of the Domain during the Calamity and Mipha’s legacy growing so great that they’ve celebrated her for a century, he does not have an easy mantle to take on.

She understands all too well.

Sidon hums the song she heard a few days prior, when they were investigating Vah Ruta. It shocks her at first, as she had grown so used to hearing the songs of the Champion Festival that she nearly forgot about this one.

The festival songs were beautiful, but the song Sidon now sings is unlike any of them. Even without words and without any other instrument to flesh it out, it carries a quiet kind of strength within.

His head is tilted towards Mipha’s luminous face, but she cannot see his expression from here. Her own eyes follow to the statue. It looks so much like her in every way; a perfect copy of the memories Zelda holds in her mind. The only thing that’s missing are the eyes - this statue is blank, free of the compassion she always saw within Mipha.

She thinks back to a century and two years prior, when she watched Mipha demand her tiny brother swim up a massive waterfall. When he wouldn’t come, she came to him, and they swam together.

It was beautiful, the love she held for her family. The way Sidon’s eyes widened when Mipha asked him to keep their home safe. Zelda's heart aches.

Sidon’s voice is lovely in the quiet, a somber melody that echoes what Zelda feels, but it isn’t right. The song is familiar, but…

That’s when realizations washes over her, like waves settling against a shore.

“Your sister used to sing that song all the time,” Zelda says, stepping to his side. Sidon starts, but quickly regains his composure.

“That would explain why I don’t know how I know it, if last heard it sung over a century ago,” Sidon says, finally breaking his gaze to look at Zelda. After the pomp and circumstance of regality has been stripped away, the sadness in his face is more apparent.

“Does your father know it?”

“Maybe. I’ve never asked.”

Zelda steps forward and rests her hand against the trident. She had only seen Mipha use it a few times. She didn’t know how graceful deadliness could be until she saw Mipha fight. She was raised with the Hylian knights, the Sheikah spies, and the Gerudo mercenaries, but the latter two taught the former, and they all fight with the same bloody ruthlessness. The Zora, Mipha especially, were nothing like that.

“I wish I knew her better,” Zelda admits. “Perhaps I could have spent more time with her while we both lived.”

“You musn’t dwell on thoughts like that, Zelda. We must look towards the future!”

Zelda rests her other hand on top of Sidon’s forearm, one of the few parts of him she can comfortably reach. She has never known what it meant to have a sibling, but in this moment, she can approximate the feeling. “It is okay to mourn, Sidon. Something tells me that you’ve never given yourself that.”

Sidon shakes his head with a quiet chuckle. “Did my father ever tell you why we began the festival?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“We found her trident a few days after the Calamity began, with its prongs missing and its body nearly broken in two. We never recovered her body, so we tried to use it for the funeral ceremony. When we sent it down the river, my father heard her voice, asking us to abandon our grief and to remember her instead.”

“How terribly Mipha. To be confronted with her own death and ask her people not to cry for her,” Zelda says.

“Funny, isn’t it,” Sidon says, but there’s something different about his voice - a controlled tightness that wasn’t there before - that makes Zelda look at him. “I know that story so well, but only because I’m told it every year.”

“Do you…” Zelda hesitates, but surges forward, “...do you remember it at all?”

“Not one moment,” Sidon says, and his smile finally breaks.

“Do you remember _her_?”

“Barely,” he chokes out, a wateriness in his voice that she’s heard contained within her own far too many times before. “But what I do remember...Zelda, she was _astounding_.”

Every part of Zelda’s old life is crystallized in her memory. Every story, every moment, every sentence and every glance has been poured over so many times during her imprisonment that they weigh heavily on her heart. Her memories were her only tether to her humanity, and Hylia, in Her graciousness, allowed Zelda to keep that piece of herself even when her body had faded into light.

She knows them far too well. She’s spent so much time combing over them that regret has grown between the cracks. She doesn’t know how to rid herself of it.

“She was,” Zelda agrees quietly. “I have never met anyone like her.”

“She was supposed to be the next ruler of our people, not me. She was so young when she died, so full of potential that every single person could see! She was only alive for a fraction of the time I’ve lived, and yet she accomplished so much and I’ve accomplished nothing.”

“That’s not true. You survived the Calamity, Sidon. You helped Link stop Vah Ruta. What other Zora could have done that?”

“My father threw a Guardian off a cliff to protect our people! All I did was swim quickly. Link did everything, not I.”

“But-”

“-And when you and he went to go investigate, I couldn’t bring myself to go inside! I am a _coward_ , Zelda. A coward and a failure.”

Sidon isn’t crying, but he’s terribly close to starting. Reassurance clearly isn’t working, so she reconsiders her options.

She knows all too well how he feels, yet she gets the feeling that Sidon himself doesn’t know that.

“I used to think that about myself too,” Zelda says, looking back at Mipha. Her empty eyes glitter. “Here I was, the chosen of Hylia and the princess of the prophecy. It was my duty to stop the Calamity.”

Sidon listens quietly, clearly intrigued.

“Everyone else was _amazing_. Even Link was astounding, as pained as I was to admit it at first. They were all skilled warriors and brilliant people - they were even fun to be around. We called them Champions, and rightly so.”

She pauses, dwelling on the memories of her old friends.

“Then there was me. A failed princess, who knew so little about her own power that she couldn’t harness it until after her dearest friends were slain.”

She swallows around an unexpected lump in her throat. Link knows this story from his own memories, but she has never told another living soul what happened until now. “I heard their screams as they fell. Only after Link finally collapsed from his wounds and a Guardian was upon us did I unleash my power. I simply couldn’t let another person I loved die.”

“I had no idea,” Sidon whispers, finding her hand and squeezing it. “I’m so sorry.”

Zelda shakes her head. “For one hundred years, I asked myself if I could have prevented this had I discovered my power one day earlier. I could have saved Mipha, my father, and the thousands of people who lost their lives because of me. I carry that with me every single day. If I had been as strong as the princess of 10,000 years prior, maybe things would have ended differently.”

Zelda squeezes his hand back and her ear twitches at the sound of water quietly moving behind them. She’s spent too long with the sound playing in the background of her life to not instantly recognize it. “Come out, Link.”

Link appears at her side within moments. “Sorry. I was looking for snails when I overheard you talking, and I got curious, so…”

“You’re a gossip _and_ a snoop,” she says with a small laugh. Her free hand finds Link’s and holds it tight. He looks bewildered, but she offers him a smile that appears to calm his nerves.

“In moments like now,” Zelda says, “I no longer feel like a failure. Because as hard as Ganon tried, it could not consume the beauty of the world. I am not the princess of eons prior, and I was unable to stop the Calamity when it first arose, but the grass still grew. The birds still sang. And we? We are still alive.”

She squeezes both their hands, and they squeeze hers back.

“I do not need to be anyone but who I am,” she says, “and so that is who I shall be. I will move forward, whatever the cost. I have mourned, and now I shall honor those who came before me.”

She’s spent so much of her life feeling like a failure. She will hold onto any moment that promises a different reality with all her strength.

For the rest of her life, she will remember this moment.

Sidon lets go of her hand and turns to face her and Link. There are tears tracks running down his cheeks, glimmering in the moonlight. Despite that, he grins and offers her and Link a thumbs-up. Finally, the movement seems completely natural.

Zelda’s heart swells.

“Zelda, you truly are amazing! Link, my dear friend, thank you for bringing this exceptional woman into my life.” He looks at Mipha’s statue and his grin grows a little softer now. “I feel as if I understand her better now.”

Wherever Mipha’s spirit is, Zelda knows for certain that she has found rest.

 

*

 

“Father, I have decided. Please allow me to pilot Vah Ruta,” Sidon says the next morning. Zelda and Link sit in the throne room directly in front of Dorephan, who regards his son with curiosity.

“Are you sure, Sidon?” Dorephan asks. “You didn’t seem too enthused about the prospect when we spoke of it before.”

“I spoke with Zelda last night after the festival and she really opened my mind! I’m not so proud that I cannot admit my relative lack of skill as a fighter, especially compared to her. I may not be as skilled of a pilot, either. But that is fine!”

“Plus she piloted it as a ghost,” Link adds, “It isn’t really fair to compare the two.”

“I shall try my best, and hopefully that will be enough to make both her and you proud,” Sidon finishes with a short bow. “I hope you’ll accept my request.”

Dorephan is silent long enough to make Zelda’s skin crawl. He taps his hand against his chin, eyes flicking back and forth between Zelda and Sidon. She squares her shoulders and plants her feet firmly on the ground, trying to imbue herself with the smallest bit of Mipha’s steel.

From beside her, Link briefly nudges her shoulder with his, too forceful to be an accident. She doesn’t spare him a smile, but she is grateful for his presence.

“Very well,” Dorephan says. “If Princess Zelda herself has convinced you of such, then who am I to go against her!”

Zelda breathes an internal sigh of relief. Sidon flashes her a smile and a thumbs-up, and that gesture of solidarity she does return.

Dorephan and Sidon - as well as every Zora she’s met - put so much faith into her. Link too, trusts her with his life. She doesn’t fully understand why. Her research was never as advanced as her Sheikah companions, her notes messy and childish in their simplistic observations.

Yet she knows that her own research on Vah Ruta is what the Zora have kept. Her notes are the ones that Sidon will pour over.

“I do have a request for you, Princess Zelda,” Dorephan says, interrupting her thoughts.

“Yes?” Zelda asks.

“Will you train Sidon to pilot Vah Ruta? I cannot think of anyone else who would be a better teacher than you.”

There it is again! That unwavering confidence. She certainly would be a decent candidate, but Purah or Robbie would be equally as good, if not better. And what of the older Zora? Muzu or Seggin? Wouldn’t they also have experience?

What good is a powerless princess and an immature scholar who was trapped in the ruins of a castle for a century?

Her own words from the night before ring in her head. She must move forward. She is no longer trapped in that castle or bound to a nightly prayer.

She is free to choose and she chooses to accept.

With a bow, Zelda says, “I would be honored to.”


	2. Mount Lanayru (all i see scares me)

_ Naydra, spirit of ice and emissary of the ancient goddess Nayru, rests over the Spring of Wisdom. Its claws sink into the snow below as it balances its chin directly above the Goddess statue in the center of the water. There is warmth in its eyes as it stares at the person capturing its image.  _

_ Like a mother consoling a frightened child, reminding her that she is not alone. _

 

*

 

Lanayru Bay is every bit as beautiful as Zelda had hoped. Link had rolled his eyes when she insisted in traveling through it instead of taking the more sensible trail back to Hateno, but her persistence won in the end. 

They camp right by the water for the night. Zelda’s boots sit by the fire, drying out after an unexpected slip off a Cryonis block dumped her right into Rutala river. She lets the water rush over her bare toes and delights in the sensation.

“I could never do this back home. The moat waters were never clean enough to swim in,” she says with a sigh. “Has that changed?”

Link sits by the fire, poking at a pot he commandeered from a few Bokoblins who had attempted to make them into their new dinner earlier that day. The smell of roasting vegetables fills the air.

He is much drier than she is, but his damp Zora armor is sprawled out by her shoes.

“It’s fine now. I had to swim through the moat to find another memory. The water was much cleaner than other things I’ve been in,” Link replies easily.

He doesn’t seem to pay it much mind, but Zelda feels her own heart sink. She knows exactly which memory he speaks of. There were so many other pictures, so many other memories, she could have left for him, but that was the one she needed him to see. It pained her, but she needed him to understand the pressure she was under. Why she was so cruel to him at first and why she saw herself as such a failure.

That pressure is gone, but so is her father.

She’s had enough hard conversations for now, old burdens shackling her heart down - she does not need another. “Have I told you why I wished to come here?” she asks.

“To dip your toes in the water?”

Zelda laughs. “That’s one part, yes, but not everything.” She looks out to the sky, focused on the sunset as it dips below the hills in the distance. “My mother used to read me a story that was set here. It was about a sickly girl who moved here with her family to live out her final days in her favorite place. One morning, she was sitting by the water when she saw a strange island appear. At the same time, Mount Lanaryu began to glow. She was curious about both events, but she was clever. She knew better than to traverse a frigid mountain with her poor health.”

Zelda feels a pair of eyes on her and looks over. Link watches her intently, giving her the same rapt attention he always would a century prior.

She quickly ducks her head to hide the smile forming on her face. Despite all the ways that they have both changed, this one thing has not, and it fills her with comfort.

How many evenings did they spend exactly like this, sharing stories and food over a warm fire as the stars danced above them?

How many more could they share before destiny, who once saw them fit to stay together, tore them apart?

“Every night the two places would glow, but she was unable to visit them. On her seventeenth birthday, she knew she did not have much time left, and she decided to go. The young girl grabbed her mother’s oar, boarded her fishing boat, and paddled out to the center. The island glowed blue when she stepped onto it, but the stranger thing was the flaming sword stabbed into the center. She took it out and a sudden updraft began.”

“Is this supposed to be a children’s fable?” Link asks. “Because I’ve had something similar happen to me.”

Zelda gives herself a few seconds to laugh. How beautifully absurd, yet utterly unsurprising. Rather than allow herself to be distracted and follow that interesting line of inquiry, she files it away as yet another thing to ask Link at a later time and continues with her story.

“The girl took the fabric within the canoe, tied it to the sword, and allowed the updraft to carry her into the air. She flew to the glowing point upon the mountain and found a statue there. A voice spoke in her mind, pleading for her help. So she melted the snow around her and used the resulting water to clean the statue. Another updraft started and she was able to fly home.”

“That’s not the end of the story, is it?”

“No. The girl’s health continued to decline, but when the mountain began to glow again, she returned to see the statue covered in filth yet again. However, it hadn’t been long enough since her last visit for the statue to get this dirty. She realized that this wasn’t the work of nature, but of an evil spirit. She needed something that could combat the spirit more permanently than a quick bath.”

“Did she try stabbing the statue with her sword?”

“No, she did not! That would not have solved anything, Link!”

“I told you, I’ve dealt with similar stuff before and stabbing usually helps!”

Zelda sighs. There’s exasperation when she speaks again, but her fondness is louder. “ _ Anyways _ , she notices that some of the snow seems more melted than the rest, and discovers a large rock buried nearby. She moves it and water begins to fill the area. It doesn’t clean the statue nearly as well as she hoped, but what is more pressing is how the water is soaking her. She begins to cry, thinking that she’s going to die for a fruitless effort. That’s when she hears it again - the same voice that beckoned for her help.”

“Was it Hylia?”

“I’m getting there. The voice reveals itself to be the Goddess Hylia - yes Link, you were right, and before you let your grin split your face in two and look even more like a Bokoblin than you already do, let me remind you that this is a children’s fable - and thanks the girl for her wisdom and her bravery. However, the girl is freezing to death, and even if she does return home, Hylia knows that she is not long for the world. So she gives the girl a choice: go home and live her last remaining days free of pain, or give up her human form and become an emissary worthy of the ancient goddess Naryu.”

“She chose the latter, right?”

“Correct. Hylia, with the help of the ancient goddess, transformed the girl into a powerful spirit sworn to protect the Spring of Wisdom she helped to create. She’s also why I was unable to go to the Spring until I turned seventeen, as she was unable to face its challenge before then as well.”

Link nods slowly, taking the story in. “So that’s how Naydra came to be, huh…”

“Naydra?” Zelda asks.

“The ice dragon.”

Zelda racks her mind for any information about dragons. She certainly remembers hearing stories about them when she was young, but she had never seen one herself. She always considered them to be another children’s fable, just like the one she just told Link. As lovely as they were to hear, even if they were based off truth, they had to be distorted in some way. Grains of truth were always lost to time - no legend was immune.

But then she remembers. “Wait! I remember seeing information about this in the Compendium!” Sure enough, she grabs the Sheikah Slate and finds an entry on not one, but three different dragons. Her eye is drawn instantly to the lovely blue one.

She pauses on the blue one and quietly reads its description. “So you’ve seen it?” she asks.

“I found it at the Spring of Wisdom, corrupted by Malice,” Link explains. “There should still be a picture on there…”

She lets him take the Sheikah Slate out of her hands and waits patiently as he flips through his awful pictures, curiosity nipping at her heels. He wordlessly hands the device back to her.

Horrible is not a strong enough word to describe what Zelda sees, but its the best her mind can supply. The dragon - this beautiful creature, the emissary of a  _ Goddess _ \- is bruised purple and black. Malice coats over its head in a series of massive tumors, leaving only a single eye of its own to glare at the camera. Its tongue lolls out of its mouth, purple blood dripping down from the tip and staining the snow below.

The thing that makes her gasp is the series of eyes with their slitted pupils, staring balefully directly at her. She nearly drops the Sheikah Slate. For a moment, she is transported back inside the Castle as Ganon stares at her with that same hatred.

She shuts the Sheikah Slate off and shoves it back in its holster. Is she hyperventilating? Is that why her heart hammers within her chest and she can’t seem to catch her breath?

“Zelda?” Link asks. At least her ears still function, though she cannot bring herself to respond to him. His hand rests against her arm, and yet again, he tethers her back to reality.

“That… that poor creature,” is all she manages to say.

“It’s free now, don’t worry.” His eyes dart towards the water. “It flies over the water on occasion. We might be able to see it before we leave.”

An overwhelming sense of urgency crashes over her, allowing her to finally regain her voice. “I need to see it for myself. Let’s stay here until then.”

She can’t explain why. She simply feels drawn.

“Are you sure? They’re not the most predictable creatures. It could take days before we see it, and Purah’s expecting you back by tomorrow night.”

“If we must, then we can use the Slate to travel to Hateno, say hello, and then come back. Purah will complain, but she’ll also understand,” Zelda says. They could use the Sheikah Slate to travel anywhere they needed to go, but as amicable Link is to the idea, he’s spent the past year wandering the country.

She spent the past year trapped with evil itself, using every ounce of her strength to keep it from growing powerful enough to unleash itself upon Hyrule yet again. Link’s return, weak as he initially was, only fueled its hatred.

But Ganon has been sealed away and Zelda needs to see what ruins it has left for her. How can she restore a Hyrule that she has not seen in a century?

Other questions buzz in her head, but she pushes them away, and focuses on Link instead. “I guess it’s fine. I’m not in any rush, but I’m also not going to deal with Purah for you,” he says.

Relief settles over her, but it quickly dissipates as she comes to realization that she doesn’t know what Link wants to do. He is no longer her knight, yet he still accompanies her everywhere without so much as a single thought for his own plans. Between the Sheikah Slate’s abilities, her mediocre experience with a bow, and the Golden Light that still hums under the surface of her skin, she isn’t in any particular need for his protection. Nor does she need his validation of her identity, as the glowing triforce etched into her hand is proof enough.

But his friendship? She cannot replicate that.

She was in love with her knight, and she loves her friend, but those men are not the same, and neither is her love.

“What are your plans?” Zelda asks. “Where do _ you  _ want to go?”

Her question seems to take him by surprise. He leans back, digging his hands into the sand below and looks up to the stars. “I’ve spent the past year focused on saving you. I mean, I did a lot of other things along the way, but freeing you was never far from my mind.”

“Even when you were wasting your rupees shield surfing down the side of a mountain in some silly contest?”

“You wouldn’t call it a waste if you tried it yourself. I’ll teach you how to do it. You’ll love it.”

Before she allows herself to get distracted by the concept of shield surfing (which, she does admit, is incredibly intriguing), she directs them back to the matter at hand. “Shield surfing aside, you’ve yet to answer my question.”

Link sighs. “I don’t have a particular destination in mind. I never really have. I suppose I’d like to keep traveling and find the secrets of Hyrule I haven’t stumbled on yet. Read more journals. Find more weapons to put on the wall of my house in Hateno. Race sand seals. Maybe get a dog.”

It’s a little comforting to know that his accompaniment on her travels isn’t in direct opposition of his desires. Still, a question bubbles at the edges of her mind, but she can’t bring herself to ask him directly. She isn’t sure of what answer she wants and she’s even less sure of what answer she’d get.

Maybe it isn’t exactly the same, but she finds a question that’s good enough for now. “Is it still your duty to protect me?”

Link is deep in thought for far too long and the silence makes Zelda’s skin crawl. She’s about to retract her question, hastily apologize for asking something so improper and quickly dismiss herself to sleep when he finally answers.

“No, but I’d still like to see you safe.”

It isn’t fully the answer she’s expecting, but it’s the best that she could possibly hope for.

She’s about to reply when Link’s attention snaps away from her. His eyes track something in the sky before settling down on the furthest end of the bay. He’s on his feet in seconds, shrugging on his weapons with a practiced speed.

Her heart speeds up within her chest and she fumbles blindly with the Sheikah Slate, hopefully navigating back to the central panel. She can’t bring herself to look at that horrid picture again.

Although she would never let Link delete it, either. As horrid as it is, it must be kept as a reminder that evil can corrupt even the most beautiful things.

“Are there monsters nearby?” Zelda asks, darting over the sand to her boots. “Which direction are they coming from?”

Link shakes his head and turns to face Zelda, an excited light in his eyes. She pauses in pulling on her boots to regard him cautiously.

“I just saw a shooting star!” he says, sounding entirely like a small child.

“A shooting - I’m sorry, what?”

“A shooting star! Star fragments are some of the best items for upgrading armor and I just saw it land on the other side of the bay and I can definitely get to it before morning. Be back soon!” He takes off in a dead sprint along the shore, leaving Zelda baffled in his wake.

She allows herself precisely five seconds to be dumbfounded before shoving her other boot onto her foot and running after him.

She’s never seen a star fragment before and she’s not going to let him hoard the joy of its discovery all to himself.

 

*

 

The skies are empty the next morning. Zelda tries not to let her disappointment show, but the respectful berth of distance Link keeps around her as he works through his morning exercises is telling enough. 

He used to do that when she hated him. It was a blessing then, but she isn’t so sure how to feel about it anymore.

There are a lot of things she isn’t sure of, the most striking one being how to spend her morning. She could stew in her desire to see the dragon. She could sit by the fire and let her sighs fill the air, forcing Link to silently bear them all. She could dwell in the memory of the dream she had during her few hours of sleep, where she destroyed what she thought was a Guardian with her powers only to realize that she had become a rogue, Malice-infested Guardian herself.

One that razed Hyrule Castle itself, obliterating the throne room with her power.

She takes another drink of water from a nearby waterskin and stands up. There is work to be done. Even if they’re only waiting for Naydra to appear, she can spend her time productively.

She slips off her boots and wades into the water, Sheikah Slate firmly in her hands as she scans for any marine life that has yet to be added to the Compendium. Most of them already have an entry, but their descriptions and locations are incomplete. Maintaining records, while tedious at times, is paramount to advancement. Time whittles away slowly, like flecks of wood cut off a small carving, but eventually the sun hangs high in the sky.

At this point, Link, who has methodically slaughtered every nearby monster and overturned every rock in search of hidden Koroks throughout Lanayru Bay, comes to her side. “If Naydra hasn’t appeared by now, then it won’t appear today.”

“Then we wait until tomorrow morning,” Zelda replies, although her response comes out a little  sterner than she intended it to.

Link remains unfazed. “We don’t have to leave the area, but we could spend the afternoon doing something more interesting than typing about...” He peers over her shoulder, “fish.”

“Such as?”

“You probably already know this, but there’s a shrine nearby. Must have taken me two days to figure out how to solve the riddle just to get it to appear.”

Whatever line of thinking Link currently entertains is foreign to Zelda. “And…?”

“Well,” Link shrugs, more than a little awkwardly, “I could recreate the scenario and see if you’re able to solve it faster than I did.”

It would be a welcome reprieve from typing the phrase “Lanayru Bay” into the Sheikah Slate over and over again. It wouldn’t necessarily accomplish anything, though. Besides, she had been able to see the inside of several shrines since being freed, just as she’d been able to solve their riddles more quickly than Link had in many of the cases. It was a small thing to be proud of and ridiculously childish to dwell on, but this was one childish notion that she could forgive herself for.

The frustration at being unable to enter the shrines a century prior still stings when she thinks of it, and every successful entrance into one now is like a sweet balm to her old wounds.

“Alright. Let me know when I should head over.”

He nods and quickly sticks out his hand. They’ve followed this routine enough times for it to pass without any need for words. As loathe as she is to give up the Sheikah Slate, there are times when Link is justified in his desire to temporarily borrow it.

Zelda hands it over. He taps the screen a couple of times and fades into strands of blue light.

She wonders momentarily if she would be able to teleport him in a similar fashion. She had a couple times, extending out the Golden Light just enough to take him away from the battlefield after slaying the Blights in each Divine Beast. Ganon could tell what she was doing from within their shared prison, but was powerless to stop her for those few blessed seconds.

Could she still do that now, or has that blessing from Hylia left as well? She examines her hand, fingers lingering over the Triforce.

What  _ can  _ she still do?

 

*

 

Link comes back after about an hour, rising out of the water clad in his Zora armor and looking entirely too much like a Zora guard whose name Zelda was never able to remember, despite being told it no less than five times. He hands back the Sheikah Slate wordlessly.

She stays silent as she creates a line of Cryonis blocks to hop across, but gratitude for rescuing her from her own thoughts bubbles in her throat. She doesn’t feel a burning need to say it, but he’s a smart man. He probably already knows.

When they reach the other side, Links hands over his paraglider and recites a verse from something that must be a song.

The only thing she asks is, “Was that a song from the Rito bard? What was his name again?”

“Kass.”

“Oh yes. Vane’s student.” At Link’s confused glance, she elaborates. “Vane was a poet of the court. The lone Sheikah poet, actually.”

For a moment, her heart aches within her chest - he was a good man and a sweet friend, even if his romantic yearnings went unrequited - but she focuses herself on the task at hand.

Paraglider firm in her hands and Sheikah Slate at her hip, she pretends as best as she can that she’s making a new discovery and not simply following the motions through a puzzle long solved.

There’s still satisfaction to be found in revealing the answer simply for the sake of her own knowledge. It isn’t difficult to figure out the meaning behind the song, nor is it particularly difficult to figure out that the wind travels through Horon Lagoon in a very peculiar manner.

Zelda throws a few bombs at suspicious looking rock formations and lets the wind soar unfettered. If anything, the most challenging part is trying to ride the wind all the way through the lagoon, from where Link stands silently to the platform that - quite obviously - previously held the key to opening the shrine.

After half an hour of falling just short of catching a gust of wind and plummeting into the water, Zelda decides to cheat a little. She climbs up to the overarching rock platform where two streams of wind merge into one and hops off the front, letting the wind catch her and easily sail her over to the platform. The paraglider is surprisingly steady in her hands and for a few moments she closes her eyes and simply enjoys the feeling of gliding through the air.

Even if for a moment, it feels nice to be weightless.

But it is a temporary comfort. The earth still calls out to her. Letting her feet drop onto the platform below is its own kind of relief, just as seeing Link be actually impressed by her efforts for once is a relief.

There’s amusement on his face too. “You did the same thing I did in the end. Trying to ride the wind gusts all the way through was impossible.”

“And the timing?” Zelda asks.

“Four hours, one of which you spent falling into the water.”

Her sodden clothes and the squelch of her boots as she steps are reminders of that, but even that discomfort feels like a small triumph.

What would her father say if he could see her now? Would he be proud of her intelligence and skill? Or would he be upset at her for whittling away her afternoon like a vapid child?

Her throat feels tight, the triumph sizzling away to nothing.

She steels herself. If Link notices the tension in her shoulders, he doesn’t comment on it.

“Shall we go in?” Zelda forces out.

It’s a small comfort, but the fact that the shrine itself is  _ utterly uninteresting _ is enough to get her mind on less somber subjects for the rest of the day.

 

*

 

Link shakes her awake the next morning. Her first instinct, even in her sleep-muddled mind, is to glare at him for disturbing her. Sleep doesn’t come easily to her and he should know that better than anyone. How dare he rob her of something so precious.

Unless they’re about to be beset by monsters, she is going to go back to sleep and criticize his awful action when she properly wakes up.

“Naydra’s coming,” Link says. She instantly forgives him and springs into action, shrugging her tunic over her head and strapping her belt around her waist. He’s already dressed, because of course he is, but he makes himself useful by handing her the rest of her equipment.

Zelda races from the tent and looks to the sky. In the far distance is an undulating form, effortlessly weaving its way through the air. It dips down, coming so close to the water that its claws - oh, and its arms are so small, can they even support its weight? - rend it apart, sending waves crashing to the shore.

She is awestruck, unable to tear her eyes from the most majestic creature she’s ever seen.

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” Link says, somewhere close to her.

She would tell him that beautiful is an understatement if she could bring her mouth to work, but she cannot. She is frozen in place, completely spellbound by its splendor.

She has never seen something this magnificent.

As it flies closer, she can make out more details. It glows brighter than luminous stones at night, teal veins snaking its way between pearlescent scales. On its head is a single horn spread across like a crown of icicles.

Its eyes must be ringed with at least three different colors, speaking of untold age and wisdom. It looks straight ahead, paying her no mind - and why would it pay attention to them, when they are so small and it is so majestic?

Until that single, golden eye swivels over to her, that is. It peers not at her, but at her soul, baring her open for Nayru Herself to judge.

It blinks slowly and Zelda feels an odd sense of approval wash over her. Like it somehow approved of what it saw.

It tilts its head as if gesturing to Mount Lanayru before turning around and flying towards the mountain. Only when it disappears far into the sky does the spell finally break, leaving Zelda to stumble backwards. Link is at her side within moments, his hand at the small of her back to steady her.

“I’ve never seen it do that before,” Link says, wonder creeping into his voice.

“I have to follow it,” Zelda says, the words coming out not of her own volition. She nearly jumps once she comprehends what she just said.

Follow it?

Up blasted Mount Lanayru, the last place she visited before the Calamity struck? Where her own powerlessness rung hideously in the air, where Hylia was deathly silent?

There are two locations in Hyrule that make her nauseous just to think about. The first is Hyrule Castle. The second is Mount Lanayru.

_ Hylia, must I go? _

Again, Link asks, “Are you sure?”

Again, the worlds seem to simply come. “No, but I’m going regardless.”

It occurs to her, not for the first time, that Hylia has an odd sense of humor.

Other times, She is gracious. Zelda hears the words escape her before she realizes what she says. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course.”

 

*

 

Link finishes threading the Snowquill headdress into her hair as they reach the base of the mountain. He wiggles the Rito feathers in her hair, positioned just above her ears, making sure that they won’t slip as she moves. When he’s satisfied with the result, he takes a step back and nods. 

Zelda touches the twin stones that dangle by her face, hanging off the ends of her carefully wrapped hair. “I fail to see how some feathers and pretty stones are going to keep me warm.”

The Snowquill tunic, layered over her own, makes sense. The down is thick and soft against her fingers, promising layers of protection against the frigid cold. Her usual pants aren’t very thick, but she’s willing to sacrifice a bit of warmth for the ability to comfortably move.

Link looks similar to her, with a ruby circlet entwined around his head and a very warm looking doublet covering most of his body. He wears snow boots that crunch even in the thin layer of frost they find themselves in whenever he walks.

They’re much more prepared for this journey than they were a century prior. The best part is that she will not need to change out of this outfit once, let alone into a threadbare dress to spend hours praying in a freezing magical spring.

“They’re rubies,” Link says, tapping his own circlet. “Harnesses the power of heat to help keep you warm.”

Now that he’s said it, she remembers that fact from a far-off lesson she took as a young girl. That teacher, for all her fealty to Zelda’s father, was never fond of her overeager pupil. “Fascinating how precious stones can have elemental properties. I wonder why that is,” she says.

Link, never one for scientific inquiry, shrugs.

Stuffing her annoyance down, Zelda makes a mental note to pose the question to Purah when she sees her. At the very least, Purah would humor her. The other extreme is more likely, knowing Purah as well as she does - Zelda would pose the question and Purah would become so invested that she spends two weeks studying its phenomenon and forcing Link to give her all his precious stones.

It would be fun to study elemental properties with her, even if Purah may need to take frequent breaks simply to run circles around her lab because she is physically unable to sit still for more than twenty minutes at a time.

 

*

 

Out of all the mountains of Hyrule, Mount Lanayru is one of the most forgiving. Ice ChuChus and Lizalfos dot the landscape, but a few well-placed fire arrows render their threats into jokes. 

Halfway up the path Zelda trips over something that she initially mistakes as a tree root. When she turns to coldly regard it, she finds herself face-to-face with an angry Lizalfos, stomping and screeching at her in whatever facsimile of language it can eke out.

She spots Link a few feet behind it, sword in hand, creeping up as quietly as possible. It is deaf to the telltale crunch of snow beneath his boots as it continues to throw its tantrum.

A century ago, she would have sent panicked prayers to Hylia, begging Her to spare her life, even as she saw Link. She would have regretted never forcing the royal guard into giving her combat lessons.

Maybe she would have cried.

Now, Zelda sticks her tongue out at the creature, enraging it even further and giving Link the opportunity to cleave it in two with a fiery sword. It disappears in a puff of cold smoke, leaving behind a series of body parts that Link is all too eager to snatch up.

“This,” Link says, holding up its severed tail, “fetches a surprisingly good amount of rupees.”

Zelda watches in equal parts disgust and fascination as the tail twitches within his hands. Never once breaking her gaze with its strangely mesmerizing dying dance, she gropes around in the snow for its talons and hands them to him.

As they climb higher, the air grows even more frigid. Zelda expects her face to go numb from the cold, but while she feels a chill when the wind buffets her skin, she is otherwise alright.

She chalks it up to another effect of the rubies swaying just above her collarbones.

Where were these beautiful things a century ago, when she sat horseback in the frigid air and lost feeling in every part of her face?

It’s a pleasant surprise to discover wolves running amongst them. A small bit of joy blooms in Zelda’s heart at the sight of their snowy fur and sharp, intelligent eyes. Even in a land of monsters, nature still finds a way to thrive.

They howl upon noticing her before disappearing up the mountain. Link breathes out something close to a chuckle somewhere behind her and she hears him unsheathe his sword.

Paws pound into the snow as they walk, but the wolves remain hidden from sight. It isn’t until she hears a yelp and a hard thud does she look back, only to discover Link withdrawing his sword from a wolf’s shoulder.

Zelda balks. “Link! What did you do!?”

Link shrugs helplessly as he grabs the - now dead! - wolf. “The meat on these things goes for so much, Zelda. Plus, wolf is delicious.”

Has he fed her wolf before without her knowledge? The thought makes her queasy. “Please tell me I haven’t unknowingly eaten wolf.”

“We haven’t traveled around wolves recently, so no. It’s mostly goat.”

“Thank the Goddess. I don’t know if I could handle eating wolf.”

“Don’t say that until you try it,” Link warns, already beginning to skin the poor thing.

Once the wolf meat - wolf meat! How terrible! - is packed away and Zelda reminds herself to  _ not _ go searching within Link’s pack anytime soon, they continue on.

When the snow starts to give way to a stony staircase, Zelda knows that they are close. The fog can no longer cloud the telltale ice blocks that rise from the summit.

In her memories, this place is the throne room of her failure.

She has not seen hide nor scale of the creature that beckoned her here, but there’s a gentle thrum deep in her soul that tells her that it is near.

She quickens her pace, but not enough to prevent her from speaking, old memories bubbling to the surface. “Do you remember what this path looked like the last time we took it?”

“No.”

“I suspected as much.” Another thing she’ll remember for both of them. “This grand stairway led up to the spring. On occasion you’d see a pillar or two to help mark the way, but I suppose those have been replaced by trees,” she says, looking at a massive pine as she passes underneath it. “The people of Hateno were primarily responsible for maintaining the stairway, but since it was difficult to travel to in only a day, they maintained a small camp at the base of the mountain. Every three years, three new people would be chosen to watch over the mountain and its spring.”

“I’ve never even heard of that tradition before.”

“It’s not one I’d like to reinstate any time soon, with the amount of monsters around,” Zelda says. “Besides, I think it’s prettier this way.”

She wonders if that’s sacrilegious to say. What would Hylia think about Her spring being desecrated like this?

What would Nayru, Wisdom Incarnate, think?

_ Forgive me, Hylia. But… I do find myself drawn to this new land. There’s so much beauty here. _

She does not know if Hylia receives her prayer, but she feels a tugging sensation somewhere deep in her chest as they near the spring. She breaks into a jog, leaving Link to catch up behind her as her jog morphs into a sprint.

She comes to the top and freezes in her tracks.

Naydra rests directly over the Goddess statue, its eyes piercing deep into her soul. She hears Link come to a stop just behind her, but she pays him no mind as she approaches the dragon.

“Zelda, don’t get too close,” Link warns. “It’ll freeze you.”

She hears his words but disregards their meaning, spurred on by the aura of safety it seems to exclude. Even the frigid water does not seem as frightening as it was just minutes earlier. She wades in without hesitation.

She halts at the foot of the statue and Naydra lowers its head down. She could reach out and touch it, if she so desired. She lifts a hand, silently asking for permission.

It closes its eyes and slowly bumps its horn against her hand.

It isn’t as cold as she had expected. It isn’t cold at all.

The longing she felt in her soul, the push that led her every step here, blossoms into something beautiful and comforting. Gratitude sweeps over her body, though she recognizes that it does not come from within her.

Yet that gratitude is met with her own confusion. Is it grateful that she followed it here? Why?

The last time it rested here, it was polluted with Malice and corrupted by Ganon in another attempt to spurn the Goddesses.

And it was all her fault.

Zelda rests her head against the dragon’s and murmurs an overdue apology. “I have failed you. Please, forgive me.”

She feels the dragon shift, sending her a wave of vehement denial. She shakes her head, its massive scales ringing like bells as she moves against them. “You are too kind, but I have! I could have prevented your suffering but I didn’t.”

She could have defeated the Calamity before it ravaged her land, decimated her people, and made a mockery of the Goddesses themselves. She could have saved this dragon before it needed saving.

But she did not.

The dragon snorts, buffeting her with a sudden gust of cold air. She nearly steps back, but something beyond her understanding prevents her from breaking contact.

Its mind pushes against her own, inviting her into something that she cannot immediately identify. She relaxes her guard. Like a kind host, it invites her in.

It shows Zelda a story.

 

_ She is a child, trapped in a world of adults that do not heed her warnings. She feels a connection to the land, to the skies, to the seas - to the blood of life itself. She can sense the sway of one’s heart towards good or evil long before they reveal it to her. Her very soul has been outfitted with the mythic Lens of Truth. _

_ At night, she hears whispers. Snippets of events yet to come, weaved into symbolic tapestries and metaphors she spends her days attempting to decode. Her dreams are more than simple dreams, regardless of what her father may believe. _

_ He is not a Sage; he cannot feel the truth deep in his bones like she can. _

_ What her bones tell her is that the boy standing next to her, who cannot be a day older than her, covered in twigs and donning a silly green cap that his fairy lazily floats around, is more than what he seems. Since the moment their eyes met, he has felt like an old friend she’s waited her life to see. _

_ The boy watches a man kneel. He is a shadow given form; a far cry from every Gerudo ambassador previously welcomed into Hyrule’s walls. She knows that he is not here to swear fealty to her father, despite whatever flimsy promises of diplomacy he may claim. _

_ Behind his genteel smile is a ruthless desire to maim and destroy. He will be the end of Hyrule. _

_ But they will stop him - she, Princess Zelda, the seventh Sage, and Link, the Hylian hero from the forest. _

 

A gasp wrenches its way out of Zelda’s throat and she pulls away from Naydra. Her head spins. She’s heard legends about the seventh Sage, the one who fought alongside the Hero of Time. They hail from a land that rose and fell so long ago that almost every detail has been scrubbed from time.

She was the princess Zelda tried to be, and couldn’t.

Slowly, she backs away from Naydra, but a guttural growl sounding from somewhere deep in its throat freezes her in place. She hears the clink of metal behind her - Link drawing his sword.

Naydra headbutts her gently, connecting her back to the memories of legend.

 

_ She watches through a window as her father is slain and she knows that she is next. There is not much time remaining, but she begs her nursemaid to delay their escape for a little longer. Hope is not lost yet. Her friend from the forest has yet to return. _

_ She waits in the Temple of Time for as long as she can, sending pleas to the Goddesses as her nursemaid keeps watch for the Evil King’s arrival. When there is no time left, she imbues the object in her hands with a final prayer. _

_ They leave on horseback through a city still ignorant of the turmoil within its castle’s walls. She prays for their protection as her hands grip her horse’s mane. If they are wise, then they too will flee for their lives. _

_ She senses the Sacred Stones, all three of them, nestled together in harmony, before she sees him. When she passes by, he is but a green blur. _

_ He is the hope of Hyrule itself. _

_ She must hide, but he can still fight. _

_ She hears herself shout, but she is deaf to her own words as she throws the ocarina and prays that he will catch it. _

 

This time, Zelda merely opens her eyes, overcome by a kinship with this little girl, with her ancestor of eons prior.

“Put away your sword, Link,” she says. “You have no need of it here.”

She closes her eyes again, letting Naydra flood her mind once more.

 

_ Her kingdom has fallen. Her friend, her hero, has disappeared. _

_ Reports come in from the few survivors of what comes to be called the Castle Town Massacre. Before the Evil King seized the empty throne, the Temple of Time flashed a brilliant white. The townsfolk do not understand, but she does. _

_ The Master Sword rejected her hero and trapped him in the Sacred Realm. What she doesn’t understand was why. He had the Sacred Stones! He had her blessing! Why wasn’t he good enough? _

_ Did she send him to his doom? _

_ That thought haunts her for the next seven years. She goes into hiding, stripping herself of the very identity that has defined her life. She sacrifices her nobility, her hometown, anything and everything that could possibly point back to the princess of Hyrule. _

_ She takes on her nursemaid’s tribe, posing as a Sheikah boy. She clothes herself in their garb, speaks by their customs, and fights using their weaponry. _

_ The world must believe that Princess Zelda is dead. _

_ But Sheik now lives. _

_ She discovers the identities of the other Sages. Although she saves their bodies from the fates of their people, she fails to awaken their powers. As Sheik, she tells them of their destinies, just as she begs them not to face the beasts that plague their homes alone. _

_ But they too are heroes, and inadvertently, she sends them to their doom. Their blood, their imprisonment, their suffering, weighs on her soul. She cannot be the hero this land needs, not on her own. _

_ It takes seven years for her hero to wake up. She travels through the ruins of her beloved Castle Town to greet him upon his awakening. The marketplace, once bursting with life, is now a graveyard, haunted by the tormented spirits who have yet to pass on. It reeks of death and her own failure, but she walks through it with her dagger in hand and her head held high. Bowing here means bowing to the Evil King and she refuses to surrender. _

_ The Hero of Time is dazed when she meets him, but the sight of him is enough to make her heavy heart sing with joy. Her friend from the forest is alive. Her hope remains. _

_ As he grows stronger under her careful guidance, so does she. She spent years failing to understand why the Goddesses sealed him away for so many years and allowed their land to fall into ruin, but as she sees him fight, she begins to understand. _

_ Such is the course of fate. It is not always gentle. There are times when bones must be re-broken in order to heal properly. _

_ He bends the flow of time to his will, traveling back and forth between eras with the same ease she crosses a bridge with. Each time he replaces the Master Sword in its pedestal, its lonely calls for its master pierce her heart. _

_ Eventually he frees the last Sage, the one that she had failed the most acutely. She was a beautiful Gerudo woman, with a fire in her eyes that rivaled Din herself. She was the rightful chief of the Gerudo and everyone who met her felt it deep in their soul, even if they were too afraid to admit it. _

_ The Evil King knew that too, so what did he do to her? Kidnapped her and turned her into a pawn for his own bidding. _

_ She failed that fiery Gerudo woman, but the Hero of Time did not. When the Gerudo woman laughs in delight, her power awakened and her soul freed, she knows that it is time. _

_ It would be safer to remain as Sheik, to sneak into the castle in the hero’s shadow, but she has dreamt of this moment. She knows that secrecy is no longer what fate has in store for her. She reveals her true identity and from the Goddess’s Light that flows within her veins, crafts a weapon for her friend to weild. Even darkness itself will bow to her arrows. _

_ The Evil King traps her instantly, rendering her in complete stasis. The irony is not lost on her and she accepts the punishment for her crime. _

_ When she is freed, the Hero of Time stands before her, bloodied and battered. Behind her the lays the Evil King, more than a corpse but less than a man. She feels his castle begin to fall before the tremors start, and she knows that she was born to experience this moment. Her friend fought to find her and now it is her turn to fight for his freedom. _

_ The cages of the Evil King are nothing for her. She blasts doors open and obliterates the gates in their way as her friend valiantly fights against the Evil King’s army of skeletons and captive souls. _

_ They reach the bottom and watch the tower as it crumbles. The Evil King rises from the ashes, morphing into a horrid demon and trapping the Hero of Time in a circle of flame. The Master Sword flies out of his hands and lands at her feet. _

_ She tries to pull it out of the ground, but it refuses her touch. She is not strong enough. The weight of her sins are too heavy for so pure a blade. _

_ She has no choice but to wait and pray for his success. Eventually he stuns the king-turned-beast long enough to regain his blade. She gathers her strength and when the King falls to his knees, she traps him in place. _

_ The Hero of Time strikes him down. She calls upon the Sages and they lend her the strength to banish him, sealing him within the very realm he tried to claim for himself. _

_ She is not strong enough to banish him forever. He will return. _

_ But for now, her kingdom is safe. _

_ She turns to the Hero, her friend from the forest, and rights the only wrong she can. _

_ She robbed him of his childhood and forced him into a destiny he was still too small to take hold of, but she can fix that. _

_ She sends him home, back to where he belongs, leaving her alone. _

_ Such is the price of atonement. _

 

There are tears streaming down Zelda’s face when she returns to herself. The princess of time, the Seventh Sage, saw herself as a failure? They sing songs of her accomplishments millenia later! How could she ever view herself in such a way?

She didn’t fail her hero. She had no way of knowing what would happen to him, especially after her kingdom had already fallen! Even as a child, she tried all she could to protect Hyrule. She hadn’t failed Hyrule, or the Goddesses, or the Hero of Time!

Zelda looks into Naydra’s eyes. She does not see the princess of old, but she feels her guilt, and she understands.

She sees the girl Naydra once was, before time itself was measured, the one who sacrificed her life for a Goddess she did not yet know and still saw herself as a failure.

To falter and to fail are not the same, she realizes.

Just as failure is not the same as an ending.

Naydra finally withdraws from her, severing the connection between them. Even as the warmth fades, Zelda finds that the weight within her heart feels a little less heavy.

Someone understands.

“Thank you,” she whispers. Naydra blinks, accepting her words, and it feels like a blessing from Nayru Herself.

“Are you alright?” is the first thing out of Link’s mouth when she finally leaves the water. “What happened there? Why didn’t the dragon attack you?”

Zelda takes the Sheikah Slate and snaps a picture of Naydra. When she returns it to its holster, the dragon takes off to the sky, disappearing into the snowy clouds above.

It feels like a farewell, not a goodbye.

“Naydra and I have reached an understanding,” she replies easily.

“And that means…?”

“That I am not as different from my predecessors as I had previously thought. Now, I believe we’re overdue for a visit with Purah.” She walks over to the path they trekked up just a few hours earlier, examining it carefully. “I think now would be a good time to teach me how to shield surf.”

Link i absolutely flabbergasted. He looks like a deer caught in a thunderstorm, or a fish that accidentally flopped out of water. Zelda fails to resist the urge to laugh. “I. uh. Sure, I guess. This path isn’t a good place, though.”

“What a shame. Perhaps we could try Mount Rhoam? It’s right there.”

“Y-yeah, we can do that one.”

Zelda shield surfs for the first time in her life.

It feels like freedom.


	3. Hateno Village (in my own house)

_Firly Pond is not well known, but it is well loved, full of vibrant plants and fish that dart through the water without a care in the world. The sunrise peeks out from behind the hill that separates this sanctuary from the rest of Hateno Village._

_Like the promise of a new beginning, the light shines brightly._

 

*

 

The first thing Link does upon entering Hateno Village is stop in front of a small boy and hand him a ridiculously sharp Lizal Tri-Boomerang.

In all her memories of their time spent together, their past carefully cultivated from a year of traveling together as she tried to unlock her power, she has never seen him do anything as stupid as this.

The rational part of Zelda wants to fling the boomerang away from that innocent child and scold Link until he can’t bring himself to brandish a soup ladle menacingly in this village ever again.

The irrational part, the part that trusted him enough to wait a century for his return, tells her to wait.

The child looks over the weapon in wonder, thanks Link, and hands the weapon back along with a shiny purple rupee. Link pockets the rupee, stores the weapon in his ridiculously large pack, and returns to her side.

“Is that… a normal occurrence?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

His utter nonchalance makes her want to scream. “Why.”

“His grandfather was a traveler and loved cataloguing weapons, and Nebb picked up the habit. When I told him I was a traveler, he asked me to show him certain weapons if I ever found them. I think he does it as a way to honor his grandfather's memory,” Link explains.

It takes her no time to connect the pieces together. and her anger dissipates in the morning air. “I see.”

Who was his grandfather? Would she have met him - most likely not, since he appeared to be no older than eight. Even if his grandfather was an age befitting a Sheikah, that would make his parents far past child-bearing age.

The thoughts don’t settle well with her. They aren’t the kind that weigh at her soul, but they still feel like needles plunged into her heart, taunting her over she century she lost.

“Is that what you tell people? That you’re a traveler?”

Link nods.

“I rather like that, actually,” she says. “Raises far fewer questions than whatever nonsense we might say trying to tell the truth.”

At that, Link offers a shrug. “It’s not like it’s a lie, especially when I first came here. I didn’t have a single memory of my past. All I had was some advice from a ghost, an ancient woman, and you.”

She smiles despite herself, choosing to focus on her own role rather than the part about ghosts and ancient women. She knows who he’s referring to, but Purah and the others are expecting them any moment.

They’ve made Purah wait long enough; she must be tearing her hair out by now. Worse, she may be tearing the hair of her companions out.

The road up to the Ancient Tech Lab is illuminated by glowing blue torches. She is momentarily entranced whenever they pass by one, but Link’s steady footsteps remind her that for once, she has somewhere to be.

The townspeople greet Link by name as he walks by and politely nod to her. The contrast makes her long for the day when she too can be known by name, to have this new world care about her the same way they’ve grown to care for Link. She smiles and waves at these people, but their confusion at her own response is what allows her to realize that no one knows the royal customs anymore.

No point in greeting people like a princess if they hardly know how a princess is supposed to greet people.

She drops the wave and simply nods back.

They pass by sprawling fields of Hylian rice, dotted by scarecrows that were clearly inspired by Bokoblins. Steams rush underneath their feet as they cross a few small bridges. Zelda peers over the edge and finds the water teeming with life, fish so plentiful that she can easily see them swim by.

Above them, birds sing their morning arias. As they climb higher, she gains a different view of the village, and finds it dotted with small flames and scurrying people.

Hateno was bigger a century ago, the buildings smaller but much more numerous, but she still sees so much life here.

They reach the Ancient Tech Lab, covered in shoddy stairways and cobbled-together foundation. It is an eyesore on the peaceful landscape.

It lives and breathes Purah’s essence: gaudy, over the top, and utterly out of place. Zelda loves it.

Purah throws the door open with all the strength a century old woman can in the body of a child - which is to say, a surprising amount of strength. “Zelda! Linky! You’re finally here!”

“Still haven’t used your aging tech yet?” Link asks.

Purah giggles sheepishly. “I haven’t gotten around to it yet, not with Zelda coming back and me having to prepare for our big reunion,” she admits.

Zelda isn’t completely surprised. When Link read Purah’s research journal, she sounded ready to reverse the de-aging process and become an adult again, but in reality she continues to procrastinate. There’s a certain joy in her that Zelda thinks must not have been there for a long time.

The Purah she befriended a century ago was always full of joy, the kind that made everyone who met her hungry for life.

Is this Purah the same, or did the Calamity claim that part of her?

“Have the others arrived yet?” Zelda asks, peering over Purah’s head to the lab within. She can’t make out any specifics from this angle, but she sees multiple shadows flit across the far wall and her face splits into a grin.

“Yes! C’mon, c’mon!” Purah ushers Zelda in, her little arms pushing at Zelda’s legs. Link, the blasted man, gets to follow behind normally.

The inside of the lab has been completely rearranged from when Zelda last saw it. The large table in the center, normally covered in pages of Purah’s scribbled notes, is now resting on its side against the wall. In its place is a lower table, more in line with the traditional furniture of Kakariko. A series of cushions line its perimeter.

Robbie was the only person Zelda knew before the Calamity that she had yet to see, but he looks exactly as she imagined. None of the Sheikah researchers were ever tall, but he’s gotten even shorter in his old age. He sits on a cushion at the far end of the table, with Impa on one side and a Sheikah woman who must be half his age on his other.

It wasn’t hard to guess that the unfamiliar woman was his wife, who Link had told Zelda about on the journey into Hateno. Zelda searches her mind for the woman’s name, but comes up with nothing.

Two of Impa’s guards, whose names Zelda also forgot, stand off to the side. They nod politely to Link and Zelda as they enter before returning to their conversation.

_Hylia, how am I ever going to remember all these names?_ Zelda pleads silently.

“Take a seat! Riiiiight,” Purah darts around the table and slams her hands on two cushions directly in the middle, “here!”

Amused, Zelda does. Finally noticing her arrival, Robbie’s gaze snaps to her. She cannot see his eyes behind his massive goggles, but she still feels them on her, examining her like he would a Guardian all those years ago.

For a moment, she feels like a failed experiment.

But then Robbie grins. “A little late to the party, hm?”

“My apologies,” Zelda says, briefly bowing her head - a show of respect that she quickly realizes is a vestigial reaction from customs that no longer matter. This man is nothing but her friend now. “We were sidetracked on the way from Zora’s Domain. It was entirely my fault.”

“Sidetracked by what? Did something attack you?” Robbie asks. Impa watches Zelda out the side of her eye, carefully tracking her response.

“Not at all!” Zelda falters, a little embarrassed. “We. Well. I wanted to visit Naydra, so we did.”

“The ice spirit?” the unfamiliar woman asks.

Zelda nods. “It seems it wanted to show me something, but that can be a conversation for another time. For now… um, please forgive me, but what is your name?”

The woman laughs. “No need to apologize. I’m Jerrin, Robbie’s wife.”

Their burgeoning conversation is interrupted by a door opening. Purah’s assistant walks into the room, carrying a kettle and several glasses. Hiding in his shadow is Impa’s granddaughter, carrying even more glasses and a plate of cookies.

She catches Zelda’s eye and stares like she’s seen Hylia Herself. Given the way Impa talks about her, that’s probably what the girl thinks. While the thought of anyone using such high praise for Zelda still sounds ridiculous, it no longer inspires the coil of shame that thought would have previously.

It isn’t gone, not entirely, but it doesn’t cling to her the way it would have even just a few days prior.

“Symin, I want tea!” Purah says. “And two cookies!”

“Of course,” Symin dutifully replies, “but only after I’ve served our guests.”

Purah crosses her arms and pouts, looking even more childish than Zelda thought was possible. She settles down a seat away from her younger sister. Judging by the look on Impa’s face, it was a wise decision.

Symin and Impa’s granddaughter (Poyo? Pia? Papaya? Something along those lines) hand out the cookies and pour tea that smells like wildflowers and roasted grains. The sound of clinking plates comfortably fills the silence. Somewhere along the way, Impa’s guards leave the room and wait outside, ever dedicated to their roles.

“Thank you, Symin and Paya,” Impa says, unintentionally saving Zelda from an event that could have been potentially mortifying for both her and Impa’s granddaughter. “This is the first time that all have us have been in the same room for over a century. I’m glad I was able to live to see this day.”

She raises her glass and seven others join hers in the air in a toast to life and to friendships that endured the end of an era.

 

*

 

They - Zelda, Impa, Robbie, and Purah - catch up. For the most part, the others at the table listen quietly, but they help to fill in the gaps that a century’s worth of stories often contains.

Even Paya, though she stutters and blushes with every word that leaves her mouth, contributes to the conversation. Zelda soon picks up that she’s quicker to speak when Zelda doesn’t look at her directly, so any sound of her voice brings Zelda to quietly sip her tea or take another bite of the honeyed cookies Symin made just for this occasion.

It is difficult to tell them about her time in Hyrule Castle as she battled Ganon alone, but somehow, Zelda forces the words out of her throat. She banishes the memories as she speaks them, letting the pictures linger in the air rather than rot inside her mind.

She will never be free of them. She often dreams that she’s back in that awful bubble with Ganon, both the jailer and the imprisoned, but now she is awake. She is with her friends.

She is not there, and she will never be again.

Her voice still cracks when she mentions her father’s death.

Towards she end of the story, she feels Link’s hand against her own, gently prying her off herself. She didn’t realize how tightly she gripped her knees until he got her to stop. There will be marks there, rivulets left from her nails even through the fabric of her pants.

He does not hold her hand, but he squeezes it briefly once he seems certain that she won’t injure herself.

He doesn’t know it, but he helps remind her where she is. _Who_ she is, when freed from the shackles of legacy.

Only after she finishes her story and the conversation slowly meanders back to a more uplifting topic does she realizes that throughout the few hours they’ve sat here, he hasn’t said a single word.

 

*

 

They talk through the day and well into the night, stopping only when Impa’s guards demand they all eat. They fix everyone food and their party continues over pumpkin stew and roasted carrots.

The food is delicious on her tongue, but it settles bitterly in her stomach. She excuses herself from their late dinner before everyone finishes eating, claiming that her throat is sore and she needs to lay down.

The lie burns, but it’s a small price to pay for what she wants to accomplish. She leaves Purah’s lab with a promise to return first thing in the morning. She slips just out of sight of the window and counts to ten.

On nine, the door opens, revealing Link. Zelda steps out of her hiding place once the door closes behind him and whispers, “I thought you’d follow.”

How many times had they done a similar dance within Hyrule Castle? How many white lies had escaped her when aristocrats belied Link for sitting in a room that they felt he had no claim to? How many times did her false illnessess stop a nobleman from insulting Link because he was merely a knight and not born into generations of prosperity like they were?

Too many for her to want to remember.

She thinks of them regardless.

She starts down the path back into the village and trusts him to follow. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a gentle glow over the land Hylia has entrusted it to watch over. The air is crisp, clean, free of the clumps of soot she expects to see every time she blinks.

Tonight would have been a blood moon, had Ganon still been around to cause it. She doesn’t know why she knows this, but she does.

She tells Link as much, to which he replies, “That’s why you left? They would have understood if you told them.”

The village is nearly empty when they come back to its central street, save for the last few people heading back to their homes for the night. Zelda spots two little Sheikah girls sitting on the steps to the inn, who watch her with wide eyes. They smile and wave their small arms as fast as they can when they realize she’s watching them.

After the last man on the road disappears into his home, she mimics their wave, standing on the tips of her toes and waving her arms in wide circles. The girls trade shrieks of delight and chase each other back into the inn.

When she turns back to Link, he is watching her, clearly suspicious. “Actually, you seem fine to me.”

“I am fine,” she says, though it also tastes slightly like a lie on her tongue. Has she ever truly been fine? “Who I’m really worried about is you.”

He jogs to her side and together they walk until they end up on the doorstep of Link’s house. It’s a good size, a little big for one person but not big enough to become lonely.

She loves it, with an intensity that she was surprised to discover the first time she stayed here. Even before it fell, Hyrule Castle never made her feel truly free. The stockades were buried deep underground, covered by layers of stone and dirt, but their bleak stories echoed even to the top of the throne room.

She preferred her little tower, even if it still felt like a cage most days.

At the very least, a gilded cage was better than a poisoned one.

“Let’s go inside,” Zelda says, stepping aside to let Link push the door open. The house is furnished beautifully and it’s much too beautiful for him to have done it himself. The extra bed, probably bought from the inn for an obscene amount of rupees, has found a new home directly next to the dining table. While an eyesore, it does wonder for Zelda’s back whenever she sleeps in it.

She sits on it now, and pats the space next to her. Link joins her slowly.

There is no better place to have this conversation than here, in this home that he bought for himself. Momentos of the Champions linger in her peripheral vision, but she tries her hardest not to look at them right now.

That conversation will come soon, but not immediately.

For now, she elects to go with the most direct approach possible. Now is not a time to speak in metaphor. “You did not say a single word throughout the entire time we were in Purah’s lab. I know you tend to be more talkative when we’re alone, but not to that extent. What…”

Here, she falters. What exactly does she want to ask?

“What upset you there?”

Not perfect, but close enough.

“Nothing upset me,” Link replies, now a little upset, “I just didn’t have anything to add. I barely remember anything from my past. All I really have is the past year, and that wasn’t what the conversation was about.”

A creeping sense of guilt comes over Zelda. Why hadn’t she thought of something so obvious, now that Link had mentioned it? He won’t admit it, but she knows him well enough to see the tells of his discomfort.

He felt like that table wasn’t set for him, despite the seat dedicated to him.

“But Paya and the others were born long after the Calamity and they shared stories right alongside the rest of us,” Zelda points out.

“And all of them took place before I woke up. I can tell you all about the massive temple almost directly below Rito Village, or the legendary eighth Guerdo heroine statue hidden far behind the Yiga Clan’s hideout. I can tell you about the fall of the Yiga Master, the best places to find wild porgies, or what it feels like to soar above the head of a dragon. But I can only tell you a few limited things about Hyrule before Ganon rose, and I couldn’t tell you a single thing about what life was like a year and a half ago.”

Each word claws directly into Zelda’s heart. He’s right, so right, and she’s so selfish to not recognize it before he had to spell it out for her! She knows that his memories of his previous life, of his knighthood, are nothing but tattered cloth blowing in the wind. She knows, with every single part of her being, that he was also robbed of a century. They share that same pain.

She knows that, and yet she completely ignored it.

“I’m sorry,” is all she can bring herself to say.

Link shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. It isn’t your fault.”

There it is again, his complete absolution of her errors. She was complicit in making him feel so left out. Why doesn’t he care about that?

_Hylia, how can he forgive me so easily?_

She hears something like a whisper carried in the wind outside Link’s window. A warmth that springs from somewhere foreign and is yet completely familiar blossoms over her and her eyes widen in recognition.

_There is nothing to forgive._

She knows Hylia’s voice like she knows the feeling of the sun on her back, or the grass between her toes.

“Zelda?” Link asks, the concern in his voice cutting through her brief, shocked reverie.

“Forgi-” she stops herself before she’s able to finish the word as a new idea springs forth in her mind.

Why has she never told him this before, when the thought rings true in her heart?

“Link. You don’t have to remember. I don’t know everything about your past, but I remember everything you once told me. If there’s anything you want to know, just ask.”

This appears to be unexpected news to Link - he leans back on his hands and stares into the distance, contemplating something that Zelda has no access to.

Eventually, he speaks. “I think I’m okay without it.”

It isn’t the answer Zelda expected.

“Are you sure?” she asks, not entirely unaware of how for once, she was the one asking that question.

Link nods, steadfast and stalwart. A boulder in a storm. “I remember the events that led to you taking the pictures still on the Sheikah Slate,” Link says, gesturing to the device at Zelda’s hip. “I remember some of the time I spent with the Champions. And then there are memories that I know aren’t mine, but were given to me for whatever reason. Maybe they’re Hylia’s apology for having me forget in the first place.”

“I see,” Zelda says, remembering the frigid disappointment that overcame her the first time she discovered just how many of his memories were lost. They shared so many moments together now lost to time. She can tell him about them, but a story isn’t exactly the same as a memory.

There is power in both, but there is agency in memory that a story cannot imitate. He cannot add to her stories, but he could to her memories.

“I don’t think I was very happy back then,” Link says. “What strikes me in almost every memory is this crushing sense of duty. I never felt like I had a choice. Not in fighting Ganon, or wielding the Master Sword, or even in being your knight.”

Oh, how that hurts to hear. She knew that he wasn’t fond of her either at the start. He was an infuriating statue, and she was a cold tyrant.

But then they traveled together and saw flashes of the other’s personality, pieces of themselves they were forced to hide from the rest of the world. There is not a single person alive, not then or now, that could possibly understand her better than Link.

She thinks that he must feel the same.

“When I called out to you and you woke up, did you still feel obligated to save me?” she asks, posing a question that she has been afraid to voice for too long now.

At least here, in his warm home, there is no one to judge her but him. Perhaps that’s the most frightening part of all.

“Mostly I felt confused,” Link says with a little shrug. The frankness of his answer shocks Zelda into a laugh. He grins at her before continuing. “But then I met your father and he begged me to save you. When I met Impa, I saw something in her that I also saw in the king. They both loved you so much.”

Her laugh cuts off in her throat, squeezed to death by grief. “...Go on,” she says quietly, her voice suddenly tight and her heart seized by the memory of her father.

“Even if I didn’t really know you, I knew that people loved you enough to risk everything for you. If anything, I just wanted to meet the person that could inspire such strong loyalty in other people. That never stopped being true, but as I regained my memories of you, I realized something else.”

“And what was that?” Zelda asks in a voice so small she isn’t sure that Link can hear it.

It’s a miracle, or perhaps another of Hylia’s blessings, that he does. “That you were my friend, and that you were the bravest person I had ever met, and that I missed you.”

A weaker person would have cried at that, but Zelda feels the water gather in her eyes and keeps it at bay. His words echo deeply in her soul, reverberating through her in harmonious frequency to her own feelings. “For a hundred years,” she finds herself saying, “I felt the same about you.”

It feels like a confession, but they both know it is not. It’s simply the statement of a truth they already know, a reaffirmation of a bond that not even evil itself can take.

 

*

 

The sun has yet to breach the horizon, but Zelda finds Paya sweeping the entryway of Purah’s lab as she approaches. She hums a little melody to herself as she works, one that Zelda recognizes as the melody of an old Sheikah folk tale.

One about a woman, a Sheikah advisor to a princess of old, who doused the princess in the ways of the Sheikah and hid her from the storms that threatened to tear her apart.

Zelda smiles to herself. A song for both their kin. For the powerful women whose sacrifices allow them to stand here today.

Upon hearing Zelda’s footsteps, Paya squeaks and drops her broom, sending it clattering to the ground in a flurry of unpleasant noise.

Zelda watches wordlessly as it begins to roll down the hill. Paya pales and chases after it, nearly tripping over herself in the process.

It would be funny if it were anyone else. Because it’s Paya, all Zelda feels is sympathy. She pulls out the Sheikah Slate and casts Stasis on the broom, freezing it in place.

Confused, Paya stops next to it, clearly afraid to touch it now that it’s suspended two inches off the ground.

“You should pick it up quickly. The effects of the rune are about to wear off,” Zelda explains.

“R-right,” Paya says, a little shakily, and grabs the broom right as Zelda’s words come true. The resulting force nearly sends it flying out of Paya’s grasp yet again, but she holds tight. “Thank you, princess. Please forgive my clumsiness!”

With that, Paya bows. Bows! When less than twelve hours ago, they sat around the table like equals. All it took for a slowly burgeoning friendship to be destroyed was one simple gesture, one that feels so antiquated after everything that had happened.

In Zora’s Domain, Zelda was respected, but as a foreign leader, with legitimate claim to a throne that posed no threat to the Zora. Dorephan and Sidon did not see the need to treat her with the delicacy that always made talking to most folk impossibly difficult. There was always a wall between her and the world, whether made from stone or custom.

She’s sick of it. She does not want to wave to her subjects. She wants to greet her friends.

“Paya, you don’t have to refer to me by my title or bow to me,” she says, careful to keep her voice light. This is a plea, not an order. “Yesterday we sat at that table as equals. Today I hope to maintain that bond.”

Paya hides her face in her hands. “You’re so kind, b-but I simply cannot accept!”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t proper! You’re….you’re…” Paya removes one hand from her face to gesture vaguely at Zelda’s entire being, as if that suddenly explains anything at all. “And I’m just…” This time, she gestures vaguely at herself, arm flapping in the wind like a broken sail.

If Zelda leaned more into her regal training, the lessons that defined her life when she wasn’t knelt in prayer or studying Guardians by candlelight, she would have raised her voice and commanded Paya to stop her foolish behavior.

She remembers every moment, every lesson and every scenario covered, and she throws them all away. Frustrated, she grabs Paya’s wrists and pull them down, forcing Paya to look her in the eye. Paya’s face quickly turns a bright red, made all the more vibrant by the snowy hair framing her face.

“You are the future leader of the Sheikah,” Zelda says firmly. “Even besides your birthright, I have heard so many wonderful things about you from both Link and Impa. You are incredibly diligent and show a loyalty to your grandmother, your people, and to Link that even the royal guards of a century prior would aspire to. Not only that, but I have seen your insight and your kind heart from the stories I heard you tell. Why do you insist on seeing yourself as below me when you’re anything but?”

Paya’s eyes are wider than the teacup saucers she carried yesterday and her mouth drops open. Zelda feels a flush come over her own face and she takes a step back, releasing Paya from her grip. “F-forgive me for that outburst.”

And now Zelda is the one stammering. Wonderful.

Embarrassed, she rushes past Paya into the lab. The main room is empty and Zelda bites back a sigh of frustration. Along with their long lifespans, the Sheikah were also known for their stamina, sometimes able to go days without sleep. She hoped that the quality would subsist in Impa despite her old age, but it did not seem to be the case.

She searches the room for something to distract her and finds a journal labeled ‘Sheikah Slate’ in Purah’s messy handwriting. It looks vaguely familiar and Zelda is fairly certain that she read it the first time she came to Hateno after sealing the Calamity away, but she grabs it anyways and pretends that it’s the most inviting text in the world.

That doesn’t stop her from throwing it at the wall when she hears Link with a knowing grin in his voice ask Paya if she was alright.

 

*

 

“You did quite a number on my granddaughter,” Impa says with a chuckle. “The last time I saw her that dazed was when she first met Link.”

Zelda kneads her hands into her thighs. She kneels on one cushion across from Impa’s three, but it isn’t the unfamiliar way she sits that makes her uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to speak to her that way. I just want her to be comfortable around me.”

“With any luck, it’ll come in time.”

“And if there is no luck?”

Impa’s grin turns a little coy. “Then my silly granddaughter will pine after yet another hero of legend and friend of her grandmother’s.”

Zelda gapes. “You can’t be serious.”

Impa’s grin only continues to grow. “Her exact words to describe you were courageous, wise, and beautiful. My eyes may not be as good as they used to be, but that girl blushed at the third descriptor.”

Zelda isn’t very fond of compliments on her appearance, too used to disgusting noblemen praising her looks above anything else. What she thought or how she acted never mattered as long as she was beautiful.

The fact that beautiful was Paya’s _last_ descriptor of her brings a small comfort, though she still isn’t fond of hearing it.

She had many admirers within the royal court, though the majority of them merely admired her status. She’s never been adept at dealing with any of them, let alone a potential admirer who she genuinely wishes to befriend.

She thinks briefly of Vane, the Sheikah court poet who genuinely loved her, and bristles with regret at how much better of a friend she could have been to him and wasn't.

Seemingly sensing her trepidation, Impa continues. “With any hope, she’ll warm to you the same way she did to Link, regardless of her feelings.” She shifts on her tower of cushions, settling herself into something a little more refined. “Before Purah and Robbie come down and inevitably distract you with their pleas for research funding, I have something important I’d like to discuss.”

Zelda mirrors her movements, squaring her shoulders and holding her chin up. A play at being a proper princess, even if she feels like a fool. “Go on.”

“You and Link have been traveling across Hyrule for nearly a month now. Have you begun any preparations for the restoration of the kingdom?”

Impa’s question crawls over Zelda’s skin like roaches skittering across the floor of a filthy inn. A chill goes down her spine and she briefly entertains the notion of disappearing in a flash of light and reappearing underneath a rock on the other side of Hyrule.

She wishes Link was here to ground her, keep her in her body and her mind where she belongs. But he’s off entertaining (or possibly comforting) Paya so she doesn’t feel the need to scurry around and clean the rest of the lab.

(And potentially embarrassing them all! Link is always saving Zelda, even when he doesn’t know it.)

Since Link is not with her, she casts her thoughts to a presence that she knows never leaves.

_Hylia, give me the wisdom to answer this question._

“I’m… still not sure, to be quite honest.”

Hylia yet again meets Zelda with Her strange sense of humor.

“I’ll be honest - that is disappointing to hear, but we are not without hope. You have many allies, myself included, who are more than willing to help.”

Impa launches into a lecture that reminds Zelda entirely too much of the lessons on ruling a kingdom she received as a child. After the prophecy reared its ugly head, those lessons were put on hold in favor of whittling her life away at Hylia's feet, but the memories cling to her like thorns. Impa speaks of treaties and restoration processes, or coronations and formal ceremonies designed to teach a new generation what it means to have a sovereign ruler.

She emphasizes the need to rebuild Hyrule Castle, as a beacon of hope for the people and as a message of triumph over evil, and Zelda’s mind goes somewhere far, far away.

 

*

 

Purah and Robbie do distract Zelda with their laments over their lack of funding, but she spends the rest of the day floating through their conversations. Only Link notices that something is off, but he’s too smart to bring up the issue when everyone’s well-meaning ears are around to hear.

He carts her away the moment the sun dips below the horizon. They spend the night in Link’s house, coated in a layer of silence. She watches the flames crackle and pop, unable to bring herself to work on updating the Compendium. He polishes the weapons that hang on the walls.

Her body is here, but her mind is a century away.

She doesn’t sleep that night, but neither does Link. In the morning he convinces her to leave the small house, despite her mumbled protests, and walks her down the gently sloping path to the pond right below his house.

He convinces her to take off her boots and she dips her toes in the cool pond water. Cattails brush at her arms as she settles into a more comfortable position, positioning herself so she doesn’t step on any of the plants floating on the surface of the water. Carp dart in front of her as the sun makes it way over their heads. It helps bring her back to herself.

On the other side of that hill is a world of responsibility and expectation she had childishly hoped she was free from.

She’s never been simply Zelda. She’s never been only a scholar. She’s always been a princess, and even if the word failure doesn’t sting as badly as it used to, she must work to keep it that way.

Still, she can’t help but entertain her fantasies. “What if the rest of your life was like this? What if you could spend your mornings watching the sun rise, your days traveling the country, and your nights asleep in that house on the hill? Would it be enough, or would it be a disservice to everything you’ve done?”

“I think it’d be exactly what I deserve,” Link says. “Freedom.”

Zelda wants to reply, but her mouth clicks shut when she hears a pair of footsteps. She whips her head around and sees Paya approach them, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Master Link invited me here,” Paya says, fighting the tremble in her voice. “He asked me if I’d like to watch the sunrise with both of you.”

“I think I would like that too,” Zelda says. Like a startled doe, Paya approaches slowly, every movement slow and calculated. She settles down on Zelda’s other side and folds her knees to her chest, gripping them tightly.

When she speaks, she addresses the grass. “I would very much like to be your friend, Z-Zelda,” she says, Zelda’s name escaping her with no small effort. “It would be my honor.”

“No,” Zelda says. Paya freezes in place and Zelda scrambles to elaborate before the poor girl runs for the hills and never returns. “It would be _my_ honor.”

Paya circles a blade of grass with her finger as her face slowly grows redder. It’s a small victory that she doesn’t try to cover her face, but a victory nonetheless.

Together they greet the morning: Zelda, her dearest friend, and her newest one.

She sinks into a sense of calm so deep that it allows a traitorous thought to escape her and linger in the air, unsaid.

If she could spend the rest of her life like this, far away from that horrid castle and the burden of governance, would it really be so bad?

Does Hyrule Castle really need to be rebuilt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paya is a bisexual disaster and I love her very dearly.
> 
> Also, I just. I love Zelda so much. She's so good. She deserves to make friends and be happy.


	4. Dewa Village Ruins (no one waits)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is INCREDIBLY heavy on not only the worldbuilding, but the headcanons. It was tough to write at times, but I'm very pleased with the result, and I hope you are too!
> 
> It's also pretty heavy with its topics. There's a brief mention of suicidal ideation at the end of the chapter, so if that makes you uncomfortable, skip the part after Zelda talks about her dream and just go right to the last 4 or so lines of the chapter.

_ The crumbling ruins of what used to be houses stand in the waters of Deya Lake. Planks of wood jut out of the water like a drowning man’s final plea for life. Lilies and lotus flowers dot the water like paint in a puddle - orange, yellow, green - and grow stubbornly in between the cracks of rotten wood and crumbled stone. _

_ It speaks of a rich history, but lacks the words to explain it. _

 

*

 

“Link’s saved us so many times,” the truffle hunter Meghyn laments as Zelda pulls her sword out of a very-recently deceased Bokoblin. She’s taken to carrying one recently, and finds its unbalancing weight a welcome trade-off for the capability of close-range combat. “It’s honestly embarrassing…”

A few feet away, her sister gives Link some kind of omelet as thanks. Link is more than happy to accept it.

“You’re brave to continue searching, especially this far away from the main trails,” Zelda says, hoping to console the poor girl. It wasn’t a lie. Anyone willing to traverse a dense forest at night -like these girls apparently did all the time - contained an impossible amount of courage.

“It’d be fine if Nat didn’t insist on looking at night. I don’t even like the dark! Too many Keese.”

“That’s part of the adventure, Meghyn!” Nat says, jogging over to her sister. She gives Zelda a polite nod - a gesture of farewell that has hardly changed in the space of a century. “We better get going. Thanks for all your help!”

With that, the two girls return to foraging. Link heads back to where he left his horse, but Zelda takes a few moments longer to move.

Travelers used to be so common. She and Link would have to weave through forests and climb over bothersome hills just to keep themselves from being sidetracked by people peddling their wares or wanting to meet the princess and her knight. Campfires dotted the trails at night like lanterns sent off to sea.

Even the busiest paths are now barren.

Zelda returns to her horse, a beautiful white mare that she knows is the descendant of the horse she left behind. Link named her Dia, short for diamond, because a horse as excellent as her is such a rare find. His words, not hers.

He parted from her without much complaint, citing the four other horses he has as enough. Shortly after relinquishing Dia to Zelda, he caught and tamed another horse. That one waits for him now - a black mare that he named Bismuth.

She had to use every ounce of her strength to convince him not to take out the massive, Lynel-sized horse for this journey. Only by Hylia’s grace did she win that argument.

She remembers the horses they used to ride throughout their travels: Light and Shadow. He had renamed his horse on purpose to match hers, claiming that it was a better name for his moody mount than Carrot ever was.

It was one of the most thoughtful gestures anyone had ever done for her. How many nights did she spend replaying that memory in her mind?

How many times did she pour over it during her imprisonment, sapping from it every drop of hope she could?

So much has changed.

“There’s a shortcut back to the main path if we go this way,” Link says, gesturing deeper into the forest. “It’s more humid here, but we won’t have to backtrack.”

Ah, humidity. Her least favorite part of late summer. She runs her fingers along the braid at the top of her head, checking to see if its still in place. Satisfied, she ties the rest of her hair back and clambers onto Dia’s back.

“Lead the way,” Zelda says, her horse falling in step behind Link’s. The sounds of the forest surround them. Birds sing and foxes rummage in the underbrush as they make their way between the trees. A stream babbles in the distance and a slight breeze rustles the leaves above them.

Even in the wake of tragedy, nature survives.

Zelda pulls out the Sheikah Slate and scans over that catches her eye, taking the time to update a few shoddy pictures Link took previously. She points it at a sparrow nesting in a tree and gasps in delight when its name appears in orange on the screen. A few moments later, its picture is finally added to the Compendium.

The scenery soon begins to change, though Zelda doesn’t truly notice until the sound of hooves hitting stone fills the air. They had walked over a few stones previously, but now the harsh clap is a rhythm of discordant notes.

She looks up from the device in her hands and finds herself in the middle of massive ruins.

Curious, Zelda hops off her horse and examines a toppled pillar. Tangled vines and shaggy moss runs over cracked stone. She takes a few steps back and realizes that she isn’t looking at a plain pillar.

She’s looking at the carving of a dragon’s head.

“Zonai Ridge,” Zelda breathes.

“Did you say something?” Link says, hopping off his horse and jogging to her side. “Is something wrong? Monsters nearby?”

Zelda shakes her head. “I know this place. It’s Zonai Ridge, home to the Children of Farore. At least, it used to be.”

Link looks around curiously, as if seeing this place for the first time.

They had only been here once before. It was Zelda’s seventh trip to the Spring of Courage, but her first trip accompanied by only Link. The Children of Farore, a small enclave of Hylians who dedicated their lives to the Goddess of Courage and straddled the border between a zealous religious sect and a cult, never paid much mind to Zelda when she visited. They’d treat her with the respect royalty demanded, back when royalty still demanded respect, but never with anything more.

But Link? Oh, they  _ adored _ Link and he  _ hated _ it. They showered him in finery and gifts, presenting him with clothing imbued with shards of Farosh’s scales. Anything for the chosen of Farore, they said. Anything for the Champion of Courage.

They were known for the dragon heads that marked their settlement, dually invoking their guardian deity and a dangerous sentry. They meant to carve them in Farosh’s image, but rather than drawing the dragon spirit near, all they attracting was its lightning.

This is all that’s left of their lives. Some toppled architecture covered by moss.

Zelda opens her map. This isn’t Zonai Ridge anymore, but Zonai Ruins.

Her chest feels impossibly heavy, but she returns the Sheikah Slate to its holster and breathes out a breath that would have been a sob on any other person. She steels herself, squaring her shoulders and planting her feet in the ground.

“I’ve been here a few times before, but I’ve always passed through.” Link says, his voice quiet, careful not to shatter the tension in the air. “It was always just another set of ruins to me.”

_ Another set of ruins. _ Those words feel like a spear stabbed into Zelda’s heart. She closes her eyes and forces herself to think of the bastions of life that still remain, the ones that she’s visited that filled her heart with warmth instead of pain.

Zora’s Domain. Kakariko Village. Hateno.

Those two girls, braving a monster-filled forest for truffles.

“Let’s continue on,” Zelda says, climbing onto Dia’s back, “We should probably get out of this forest before nightfall.”

 

*

 

The Sheikah Slate claims Zonai Ruins lay only in the area that Zelda knows better as their residential district, but the ruins extend much further than that. Their horses step over what used to be houses, shops, small altars for worship, and things that Zelda cannot even imagine. 

They travel along Dracozu River, picking off the Lizalfos swimming in the water as they go. “Has anyone ever told you about this place?” Zelda asks.

“I heard someone talk about the Spring of Courage once, but the rest of this place? No.”

Zelda sighs. The only other people who would remember are the Sheikah - who as a whole have never bothered themselves with the affairs of anyone but the royal family and their own people, Impa especially - and the Zora, who extensively chronicle nothing except their own history.

There used to be hundreds of history books in Hyrule Castle, stored safely away in the library and loaned out to the townsfolk with ease, but how many of those survived? How many of them have been too weathered by time, or eaten by monsters, or distorted by Malice to read?

Who remembers this place but her?

Anyone?

“What was this place like before the Calamity?” Link asks.

It makes her heart heavy, but Zelda tells him.

She tells him of the people, their cultures and customs, their fervent worship of Farore, their idolization of Farosh, and their love of him. She remembers it all, and she shares everything she can.

Her words feel like a eulogy.

“See the mouth of the river?” Zelda says as they approach the area in question. “The children of Farore would always deny it, but I read somewhere once that the teeth of the river were man made. Their ancestors dug out canyons in the earth to make it look more like a dragon.” She laughs to herself. “The second richest family in Zonai became rich selling handmade dragon trinkets to travelers. I met them once. They were incredibly shrewd.”

“Zelda.”

“Oh, and even the one inn they had was dragon themed. Every bed had little bedposts that looked like Farosh’s horn! I found it quite charming, if a little strange-”

“-Zelda!”

Zelda bites down her sudden surge of irritation at being interrupted, trying to keep her voice civil. Her attempt does not go well. “What, Link?”

“Shock arrows,” he says. She looks up and her eyes widen at the five different glowing points of light, all trained at her.

“I forgot about them,” Link says as he jumps off its horse and slaps its side, scaring the poor thing out of its wits but most likely saving its life. It neighs, terrified, and gallops down the river. Dia panics at the sound and Zelda scrambles off of her before she too follows Link’s horse away.

Link, shield in front of him, slams a strange hat on Zelda’s head as he moves in front of her. Her fingers trace its rim and she realizes that she’s wearing the Gerudo Thunder Helm. Link struggles to pull on his rubber armor before any of the arrows hit.

A Lizalfos notches an arrow and sends it flying directly at Link. Zelda ducks out from behind his arm and casts Stasis on it, giving her enough time to shove Link out of the way. The arrow explodes in a shower of sparks where they stood moments before.

Warning horns sound across the clearing. Lizalfos stand on the posts the Children of Farore used to dance on to honor the Goddess of Courage during festivals. Four more glowing arrows point towards Link and Zelda.

Zelda grabs Link’s bow and quiver from off his back, notching and firing arrow after arrow with a deadly speed. Her accuracy is poor, but her raw anger sends the arrows flying with a force that knocks those awful lizards off their posts.

There is an implicit trust in the way Link leaves her side to go after a silver Lizalfos, leaving her to deal with the greens and blues that spit at her. It takes longer than it would have for him, but she has enough arrows to dispatch them all.

This place does not belong to these monsters.

It does not belong to anyone anymore.

In the distance she sees the telltale glow of a Goddess statue, beckoning them forward to pray at Her feet. Link has no more spirit orbs to offer up, but She has always delighted in his courageous spirit.

_ Hylia, what did these people do to deserve death? Not just their bodies, but their culture? Their way of life? _

Link returns to Zelda’s side. “I think that’s the last of them. We can go up the slope over there and cut through Deya Lake to the nearest stable. I don’t think there should be any difficult monsters if we go that way.”

“That’s fine,” Zelda says, failing to tear her eyes away from the statue. Her anger has morphed into something more raw, something tinged with a bitter sadness. It takes her a few moments to recognize it as grief.

The look on his face tells her that he knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he murmurs something about retrieving the horses and disappears down the river, leaving Zelda alone with her thoughts and her Goddess.

A part of her, the rational part, wisened by a century of life that few else can claim, advises her to go to the statue. The childish part of her, the part that screams of a youth denied to her by duty, tells her to run away and not look back.

She isn’t really mad at Hylia. She knows that.

Her failures try to creep into her skin through different names, but they are failures all the same.

_ Hylia, forgive me. _

Zelda waits by the hill Link pointed out, takes Dia’s reins from him without a word, and rides away, thankful for her horse’s hooves to again be muffled by dirt.

 

*

 

Deya Village is in ruins, and even that is generous to say. The village was one of the smallest in all of Hyrule, the kind of small that allowed the entire population to meet in the leader’s house for dinner once a week. 

All that’s left of them are a few rotting houses, their skeletal foundations withered away to waterlogged wood and a distant echo of a place once deeply cherished.

Deya Lake was deeper a century ago. Not quite deep enough to comfortably swim in, but deep enough to justify an elaborate system of planks criss-crossed through the water, allowing villagers to comfortably travel without getting wet. Every house was built on the lake, balanced on stilts that kept their homes well above water.

It was an architectural feat, one that gained the attention of the royal family. They asked the couple that designed the village layout to come to the castle and draft new plans to improve the castle. After a few years, they settled down in Castle Town.

Generations later, that family bore Link.

He had cousins here. Distant cousins, but the resemblance still held, sharing the same large blue eyes and a wheat hair that had grown a few shades darker with time. Zelda only came with Link to visit once, but those cousins greeted him as if he had grown up there.

They ate in the leader’s house that night, the entire population of thirty plus two crammed within that small space. They sang songs and played melodies crafted by reeds and flutes and Link let his guard down long enough to sing along.

Afterwards, she stayed with Link’s cousins and they showed her a row of portraits, going back to the architects that were summoned by the crown.

It was beautiful.

Zelda takes a picture of the ruins and examines the image, trying to compare it with the picture in her mind’s eye.

Where are the portraits? The windchimes that villagers would hang outside their doorsteps? The pet frogs swimming in the water, and the steady roll of smoke as someone baked a batch of lotus seed cookies?

There was so much here, once upon a time. Those things, and the memories they helped to create, are all obliterated. Overcome with hopeless frustration, she hastily shoves the Sheikah Slate back in its holster..

She rests her hand against the crumbling foundation of a house and wonders who once called it home. Was it the baker? The tailor? The young merchant who traveled extensively to Castle Town to bring wares back home for her people to enjoy? She has no idea.

Link stands a few feet away, watching her with a subdued sense of worry. “You loved this place,” he says.

She wants to tell him that he once did too, but she doesn’t. He is too dear to her to hurt him that way. “They were good people,” she says instead.

They were good people and now they are gone. Nothing remains from them, not their culture, their friendliness, the way they fished or grew rice on the damp hillsides.

There is only her, a girl who has a single snapshot of memory to remember their entire existence by.

Zelda bangs her fist against the old wood besides her. It groans in protest and slowly buckles under the force of her anger. Zelda takes an instinctive step back and watches, horror seeping deep into her soul, as what was left of this house crumbles to the ground.

Anyone else would not have wept at the sight, but Zelda knows what this dead village once looked like when full of life, and she cries.

Link is at her side instantly, asking her what he can do to help her.

_ Remember _ , she wants to say.  _ So I’m not the only one who has to. _

Even if it was possible for him to regain every memory he lost, she couldn’t ask him to be so cruel to himself. He doesn’t want to live trapped between the past and the present. He’s found freedom here and she cannot take that away from him.

She wants to, but she can’t.

Stories and memories are not the same.

Instead, she asks him to do something that she knows won’t hurt him. She moves closer to Link and tucks her face into the crook of his neck in a silent plea. He’s smart enough to know what to do next - he wraps her arms around her and holds her tight, tethering her to the world but letting her grief run free.

That’s what it primarily is. Grief. There’s remorse too, mixed in with guilt and that nagging sense of failure that’s followed her footsteps for far too long. She sheds tears for every settlement in ruins, every decimated people, every story lost to time and every legacy turned to dust.

For Link’s family, because they deserve to be mourned even if they’re not remembered.

For the Champions, her friends who held onto this earth long after their bodies turned to dust just to help her one more time.

For her dead kingdom.

And for her father.

She hiccups, sobs again, and lets her mourning run like a river.

She will be strong later. She will get up, untangle herself from Link’s arms, and move forward. For now, she allows herself this moment of weakness.

 

*

 

“I apologize for earlier,” Zelda says for the fourth time as they sit by the fire that night. They made camp on a hill overlooking Proxim Bridge, where a lone guard watches over a bridge hardly anyone travels on. If Zelda doesn’t look too hard, she can ignore the faint outline of the East Post ruins in the distance.

She busies herself with the small pot in front of her in an attempt to cook dinner for the both of them. It’s a simple stir-fry of meat and vegetables. It may not turn out as good as Link’s cooking, but she contributes that to the vast difference in their time spent cooking.

He used to always insist on cooking for her, back when he was her knight.

He isn’t so insistent now. She prefers it this way.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, stretching his legs by the fire. “I can’t begin to imagine what it feels like to see so many ruins and know what they used to look like.”

“It’s painful,” Zelda says, mostly to herself.

“That’s what worries me,” Link says. “What if those memories end up consuming you?”

A laugh works it way out of Zelda’s body, taking them both by surprise. “My memory isn’t a Hinox trying to eat me for dinner,” Zelda says, amused by the absurdity of the idea and the mental image it conjures.

Link doesn’t look nearly as amused. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“You’re allowed to mourn. You’re allowed to be sad. But don’t you think it becomes crippling when you become so obsessed with the past that you can’t move forward anymore?”

A flash of irritation sparks within Zelda. What else has she been doing  _ besides _ moving forward?

“I’m not saying you do that Zelda, so stop giving me that look,” Link says sharply. “But think about Sidon. He’s been living in Mipha’s shadow for a whole century, and he didn’t even have a magic prison or abnormally long sleep to pass the time with. He lived like that every day, and you saw how badly that hurt him.”

Zelda gives him a look, unable to decipher the point of his words.

Link sighs. “I heard a story once about a kingdom that fell into ruin. The people worshipped the guardian deities that the Goddesses sent to protect them rather than the Goddesses themselves, so the kingdom became cursed. The people were doomed to reap whatever they sowed. They built up their armies and fought against a rival nation, but even when the soldiers died, their spirits stayed trapped to the land. Their rivers dried up and their kingdom became a graveyard. Eventually a hero, sent by the Goddesses themselves, came to free them from this imprisonment. This hero fought against the king’s shade, who saw him as another invader trying to take away his kingdom.”

Zelda listens quietly, intrigued. She’s never heard this story before.

“The hero won and the king asked him to restore light to his kingdom. They had been torn apart by petty battles and infighting in life, and in death were unable to forget these wrongs. It was only when they were able to forgive each other and let go of their past were they able to move on enough to let the hero heal their land.”

“That’s a lovely parable, but what is the moral you’re trying to tell me? Who am I to forgive?” Zelda says, gesturing to the ruins just over the hill.

“Yourself. Don’t make your memories into a prison.”

His words settle sharply on her skin, digging into her like rows and rows of teeth. She jumps to her feet, her blood rushing in her ears. “A  _ prison _ , Link? I was in a prison for a century! My memories were the only thing I had. No one else - not the Sheikah, not the elder Zoras, and definitely not you - understands what it could possibly be like to be the sole person left to memorialize what was once an entire kingdom!”

She’s never been this cross with him since they became friends. He’s always been so kind, so understanding, and so willing to correct himself lest he ever trigger her genuine anger.

But that man was her knight. This man is different.

He also stands up. “No, I don’t understand,” he says, not stepping forward but refusing to cede any ground to her. “Did you ever stop to consider that I know that? That I’ve realized I can’t let myself care? Because I can’t change it! I can’t change what I did back then! I’ve had to forgive myself too, Zelda. You aren’t the only person whose been hurt, but sometimes you act like no one else has ever suffered!”

“You haven’t suffered like I have, Link! Almost everyone I have ever met and loved is  _ dead. _ ”

“I can’t remember my own family,” Link spits. “And how do you think it feels knowing that you do? Yeah, don’t be surprised! I saw the way you kept looking at me earlier, searching for any response that might mean I know this place is special. I don’t. I don’t remember my childhood, my friends, my parents, nothing. All Hylia saw me fit to give were memories of the dead Champions - who, surprisingly, were my friends too! - and of you.”

“But you don’t want your memories back! You don’t even care!” Zelda says. She’s screaming at this point, easily attracting the attention of any monster within three hundred feet of their camp. Let them come. It’d be a relief to put the anger that burns just underneath her skin to good use.

“Maybe because I don’t want to end up tortured by the past like Sidon, like you!” Link breathes raggedly, panting for air. When he speaks again, his voice is dangerously quiet and laced with poison. “Sometimes it’s like the only thing you know how to do is make yourself suffer. I wonder if you got that from that century you spent with Ganon.”

Designed to kill.

Zelda doesn’t hit him.

She doesn’t scream.

She grabs her things, muscles having gone icy cold from rage, and storms off. Her feet lead her away and she lets herself walk, forcing herself not to care where she goes.

Link’s words replay in her mind and she hears him accuse her over and over of making herself suffer. She doesn’t choose to feel bad. She doesn’t choose to be the lone person to remember entire settlements now turned to rubble!

She didn’t choose to still live a century after she should have died.

For the second time in a day, Zelda cries. The tears don’t come easily, but squeeze themselves out of the corners of her eyes like prisoners - how apt - vying for their freedom. They feel hot and shameful on her face, like they used to when she was a child and would cry after her father scolded her for reading instead of praying.

There she goes again, thinking of another sad event. Memories of her father always hurt and she can’t think of him without her heart growing heavy.

The traitorous part of herself wonders if Link was correct. Sometimes it’s as if her suffering never ends. Whenever she finds something to be joyful about, its coupled with something that keeps her from sleeping at night.

Farosh soars through the air in the distance, too far to notice a lone girl on a hill.

And that’s what she is here. She isn’t Nayru’s Chosen or Hylia’s blood. She isn’t a deposed monarch wondering how to rebuild a kingdom when the foundation has rotted away. She isn’t the princess of prophecy, the one that sealed the Calamity away.

She’s just a lonely little girl.

Zelda sleeps fitfully that night, curled around the embers of a small, sad fire.

 

*

 

Link approaches her the next morning. He holds the omelet the truffle-hunting sisters gave him yesterday in his hands as a sort of peace offering. He moves carefully, steps light and tense, as if attempting to sneak past a monster.

The thought brings a sour smile to Zelda’s face. A monster, huh? Fitting, after what she said the night before.

She isn’t mad, not anymore, not at him. She’s angrier with herself. He was only trying to help; it was her own unhelpful comments that pushed him to lash out.

The thought that sprang from her last night, unbidden but ringing with a truth she can’t ignore, lingers.

The first thing Link says is, “I’m sorry. About what I said, um, last night. I went too far.”

Zelda beckons him closer, patting the ground next to her. From this close, she can see how messily his hair has been tied back and the way his eyelids droop. Not only did he not sleep, but he stressed himself out as well.

“I’m sorry as well. I provoked you when you were only trying to help me.”

After some visible hesitation, Link sits by her side. Zelda looks towards the horizon, where Farosh flew by the night before.

“I had a dream last night,” she says. “About the princess that Naydra gave me a vision of.”

“And what happened in it?”

Zelda runs her hand through the grass below, enjoying the feeling of it against her palms. “Her friend from the forest went away for a long time, traveling on a journey she couldn’t take part in. She prayed for his safety, knowing in her heart that he’d one day return. The months turned into years, and her hope turned to heartbreak, and her heartbreak turned to anger. Were her prayers for nothing? Did he abandon her?”

“Did he?” Link asks quietly.

Zelda smiles. “No. It took longer than either of them had expected, but he returned. When she saw him, that anger melted away, leaving only her joy that he was finally home.”

She pauses for a moment, letting the scenes of the dream play out in her mind. “He was different than when he left. He seemed lost when she last saw him, full of doubt and unable to move on from the evils he faced alone. This was the princess of the past, not the future. He alone bore that pain. Still, in my dream, the boy seemed to finally have found peace.” She looks to Link. “Did you know what he said to her when they finally spoke again?”

Link waits quietly for her answer.

“I didn’t find what I was looking for. I found something better.”

Link smiles, and Zelda continues on. “He had found faith, faith in his friends and in the future. From that faith came forgiveness, and from that forgiveness came peace.”

Faith was such a heavy word for her, but it was one of Hylia’s favorites.

“I forgive you for what you said,” Zelda says. “Though I’m still learning how to forgive myself. As for faith, well… I’m still not sure how to cultivate that. Never have been.”

Link bumps his shoulder against hers and offers her a soft smile. It’s beautiful. “You’ll get there one day.”

She keeps the contact between them, drawing a silent strength from it. She’ll need it if she wants to voice the words bubbling in her throat. “I had the strangest thought last night, but one that I ultimately realized was true. I thought, in a moment of anger, that I never chose to still be alive, especially after so many have died. I realized that sometimes I don’t even want to be alive. Yet, I still am. Doesn’t that hurt to think of?”

His hand finds her in the space between them, in this quiet morning after a storm, and holds her tight.

“It hurts to hear,” he says quietly, looking into the distance. “But I’ve thought the same thing before.”

“The legends never tell us what we’re supposed to do after the monster is defeated. Nor do they tell us how we’re supposed to cope with the losses we’ve endured.”

She thinks to the legend that Link told her, of the fallen kingdom stuck in the past. She also thinks of her dream - not of the princess, but of her friend from the forest. He went on a journey to find something, and along the way he learned how to forgive.

Someone must have hurt him deeply, and yet he still forgave them. He still had enough faith in his friends to return to the princess years later and trust her to still want to see him, just as the princess had faith that he would return.

He had faith in life itself, enough to treasure it and keep it close.

Somehow, Zelda gets the feeling that both Link’s legend and her dream tell of the same hero.

“It’ll be hard to find that answer, but I think we’ll find it one day. Until then…” Link looks directly at her. She feels as if her entire soul, the very essence of her being, is on display for him to see.

She doesn’t mind it at all.

“Know that you don’t have to struggle alone. I may not remember what you do, but that doesn’t mean you have to keep everything to yourself.”

In moments like these, these quiet mornings with the man who has become her dearest friend, she knows that there is still a reason to move forward.


	5. Gerudo Town (for my mother's grin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:
> 
> -This was probably the chapter I most looked forward to writing. I LOVE Riju, and I love Gerudo Town, and I love Urbosa. Riju needs a friend like Zelda badly, just as Zelda needs a friend like Riju. And more friends in general.
> 
> -It is probably past midnight for some of you when I update this, but I live in California, and so it's still totally Friday here.
> 
> -You will tear Urbosa/Zelda's Mom out of my cold, dead hands, only for my corpse to reanimate itself and follow you around angrily.
> 
> -I actually started a new job this week, which is full-time AND an hour's commute away from my apartment. While I'm happy to no longer linger in my apartment 24/7, this leaves me with a lot less time to write. Also I get home late. As of writing this, I actually have backlog up to chapter 10 fully written, so hopefully that will leave me with enough of a buffer to finish writing the remaining chapters. All in all, I'm really happy to be working, and also money, so its a good thing.
> 
> -Also, thank you to everyone who has left kudos, bookmarked, and especially commented. I LOVE reading the comments and especially when I see the same people week after week. Warms my heart so much. Thank you for reading!

_ Two young women stand side-by-side in the chief’s bedroom, each having a claim to lead their individual races. They are framed by a large wall, now repurposed into a bookshelf that spans from the ceiling to the floor. Dozens, probably numbering closer to the hundreds, of tomes line the walls, one of which Zelda holds in her hands. Its title is obscured, but the smile on her face is not, and neither is its twin that Riju sports or the stuffed sand seal cuddled within her thin arms. _

_ Each meant to be a leader to their own people, they stand in this room having left their crowns at the door. They are each a leader to their people, but their crowns stay at the door. Here, they are sisters. _

 

*

 

A century ago, Link was not allowed within the walls of Gerudo Town. Today, the same holds true.

Urbosa once told him how he could bypass that rule, something that he only revealed to Zelda weeks after they left the town behind. Despite his memory of that event leaving him, he somehow managed to rediscover that same secret.

Which is why he stands next to her now in the town plaza, clad in traditional Gerudo wear. All things considered, he makes a lovely vai.

“I have three different versions,” he says, adjusting his veil to better cover his face. Like the rest of his outfit, it’s a gentle, forest green. “This one is my favorite. Had it dyed in Hateno.”

“Why is it your favorite?” Zelda asks. She has never been a fan of the outfit; while practical for the desert summer, she never felt comfortable in something that felt so flimsy. The fact that Link has three versions of the same awful thing is beyond her understanding - she was only ever able to wear one after Urbosa wore her patience down to nothing and has never worn it since.

Urbosa. There’s a void that yawns within Zelda whenever she thinks of her. She spent so many nights wishing that she had been born a Gerudo, that she was Urbosa’s daughter by blood and not simply bond. She would have happily embraced a future as a Gerudo chief.

And if she hadn’t wanted to rule, all she had to do was name a successor and then be free to live as she wanted. If only monarchy was that fluid.

“I just think it’s nice,” Link says, shrugging. “I like green a lot.”

“So why not dye all your armor green?”

Link looks disgusted at her suggestion, drawing a laugh out of her and distracting her from the ache she feels in her chest. “That would look terrible, Zelda.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Green Sheikah armor? Could you imagine?” He shakes his head. “Terrible.”

He keeps her laughing all the way to the chief’s room. When he finishes criticizing Zelda’s fashion choices, he starts to tell her awful seal related puns. They’re all fairly terrible, but they warm her heart regardless.

“My, what’s so funny?” an unfamiliar voice asks.

Zelda’s laugh dies a sad little death in her throat. She stands taller, her back straight and her shoulders pulled back. She silently curses how her body still defaults into a regal stance whenever she feels as if she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. She looks over to Link and sees how his stance refuses to change, which only makes her all the more frustrated.

“You’ll have to seal it for yourself, Riju,” Link replies easily.

At the end of the room is a young girl. Like a small bird, she perches in a massive throne, dwarfing her by comparison. Next to her stands a Gerudo warrior - one of the largest Zelda has ever seen. The tip of her sword rests against the ground, but her fists remain clenched around its hilt. She has seen Link hold that same pose many times before, back when he was still her knight.

“It’s good to see you, Link,” Riju says. She makes no move to leave her throne, instead gesturing for Link and Zelda to come closer. As they ascend the stairs, she re-positions herself until she sits properly in her throne. “Is your companion who I think she may be?”

From this close, it strikes Zelda how young this girl truly is. She can’t be any older than fourteen, if she’s even that. She wears maturity the same way that Zelda wears her sword, as if she’s still getting used to what it’s supposed to feel like. Her eyes are framed by dark eyeliner and her lips are painted a bright blue, in a style that Zelda distinctly remembers was popular a century ago. Very few Gerudo they passed by within town wore their makeup the same way.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Chief Riju,” Zelda says, falling much too easily into her routines of old. “I am Princess Zelda.”

Princess.

When was the last time she called herself that?

“But you may call me Zelda.”

Riju smiles. Although it’s nothing but a slight quirk of her lip, it contains a warmth that instantly puts Zelda at ease. “And you may call me Riju. I’m delighted to meet someone who Lady Urbosa loved so dearly.”

“And I’m delighted to meet someone who carries on her legacy,” Zelda replies. It’s a politically appropriate reply, but that doesn’t diminish its truth.

Urbosa never had children. When she became Champion, she named her closest friend within the Gerudo as her successor. She never believed much in bloodlines, claiming that if the Goddesses truly wanted her to have a daughter of her own, she would have woken up with one on her doorstep.

She, like most Gerudo, believed that the bond between mother and daughter was anchored by love and trust, not blood.

Zelda had once asked if Urbosa ever regretted choosing not to marry or to have daughters. Urbosa never answered her in life, but she did in death.

_ I had you, didn’t I?  _ her ghostly voice had said, colored in her laughter.

 

*

 

Riju personally takes Zelda on a tour through town. Link trots diligently behind them, stopping often to buy goods from the merchants and chat with the townspeople. Riju’s personal guard (whose name Zelda will eventually remember, once she hears it a few more times) elected to stay behind on the grounds that Link keep his sword within arm’s reach and Riju within his sight at all times. Riju wasn’t too happy about the arrangement, but she declined to protest. 

Zelda has the feeling that their exchange is a common one, and a tired one.

Everyone looks at Riju with such love in their eyes, and although she greets them all by name, she can never maintain their eye contact for long.

Gerudo Town is incredibly similar to what she remembers, but it is not the same. The waterways that line the town walls are the same, but the walls are higher, the plazas smaller. The population is smaller, both in number and in stature.

When Riju asks Zelda to compare the current town to the version in her memories, she cannot bring herself to lie. Riju’s face grow grim as she listens, though there is little surprise present. “I had read as such in my great-grandmother’s journals. After the Calamity, many Gerudo guards gave their lives trying to calm Vah Nabooris. On top of that, more monsters began to appear in the desert. It made sense to fortify our walls and compress our space. Easier to defend that way.”

Zelda nods. For a few moments, they stand in silence, an unspoken memorial for all those whose lives the Calamity destroyed.

Urbosa was the first one to speak to Zelda after her confinement. Her voice was as strong as ever, but laced with a fiery anger that Zelda had never heard before.

_ Zelda, you can’t let that beast win! Link will come back. That boy’s a hardy one. _

Urbosa was right then, as she always was. She trusted Link so much, and if it wasn’t for her, they may have never become so close.

He wouldn’t be here, jogging over to her side to offer her a slice of hydromelon, if it wasn’t for Urbosa.

She always did whatever she could for Zelda.

Few people would do the same for her now.

“That was freshly picked this morning,” Riju says as Zelda examines the slice. “I saw the merchants bring it into town on my morning walk.”

Zelda takes a bite. Though the waterways help protect Gerudo Town from the heat of late summer, the fruit’s sweet flesh instantly cools her down. She devours it much faster than she expected, leaving behind an empty rind, picked completely clean.

Riju looks at her, amusement sparkling in her eyes and a smile quirked on her lips. “Delicious, isn’t it?”

“Very.” When Zelda turns to thank Link, she sees him back at the merchant stand. Moments later, he returns with another three slices. They each take a slice and enjoy the fruit together, sharing a brief silence that feels like camaraderie.

It’s a small moment, but one that Zelda was rarely afforded in her old life. Even as the day passes, she thinks that she’ll revisit that moment often.

When the sun dips past the town walls, they return to the throne room. A large table has been set up in the middle of the room, its surface covered in an array of Gerudo specialties. Roasted voltfruit and wildberries lay around a cut of meat that smells delicious, though Zelda is unable to figure out what animal its from just by looking.

“Seared coyote! Oh, this is wonderful,” Riju says, her steps almost morphing into a skip as she walks to the table. “Buliara! Give my compliments to the chef.”

“She accepts them with gratitude, my lady,” Buliara ( _ so that’s her name _ , Zelda thinks) says with a brisk nod.

“You cooked this? It’s my favorite!”

Buliara’s stern face cracks for just a moment, revealing the ghost of a smirk. “I know, my lady.”

Riju takes a seat at the table and beckons Link and Zelda over. Zelda approaches it cautiously and makes a steadfast effort to ignore the amused looks Link keeps sending her way.

The table may be set, but as per Gerudo tradition, each person serves themselves. Link snickers to himself as Zelda cuts a small piece of the meat to put on her plate. She eyes it as if waiting for it to grow teeth and bite her.

“I promise you it’s good,” Riju says as she takes a considerably larger piece for herself. “But before we start, may I say something?”

Everyone else at the table nods, though it takes Link a few seconds longer to than it does Buliara and Zelda.

Riju closes her eyes and raises her hands, fingertips pointed to the evening sky. “Tonight, I call upon my ancestors to give thanks. To my mother, and to Lady Urbosa, I pray you hear my words. Thank you for your guidance and protection. We stand on the shoulders of your sacrifices, and the peace we now enjoy would not have been possible without your efforts. Please continue to guide us in this new era.” Her hands come to rest on the table as she opens her eyes. “Shall we eat?”

The Gerudo do not pray to the original Goddesses, though they acknowledge their existence. Hylia was never exalted here before and Zelda doubts that She is now, after Her chosen failed to stop the Calamity as it began.

Instead, they pray to their ancestors for everything, steadfast in their belief that they are always guided by their loved ones of old.

Zelda had once asked Urbosa who she prayed to. Urbosa’s smile was bittersweet back then, as she reached towards Zelda to tuck her braid back into place like her mother did when she was young. Her answer was not what Zelda had expected.

Urbosa prayed to the chiefs of old, to the Sage of Spirit, and to Zelda’s own mother.

The people who inspire her, she had explained. The ones she loved and respected the most.

The food is delicious, even the coyote. Zelda feels queasy as she lifts a forkful of the meat to her tongue, but the flavor is sharp and spicy. She finishes her food with a speed that leaves Link grinning in triumph.

“I’m glad you like the food,” Riju says with a small laugh. “While I’ve enjoyed today, I do have to ask - what brings you here, Zelda?”

The lack of title feels like a cool breeze against Zelda’s skin - unexpected but entirely refreshing. Gerudo Town has always offered her a respite from the weight of her destiny. She was the princess, but more importantly, she was her mother’s daughter, and she was Urbosa’s friend.

But her duty follows her no matter where she goes. “Two reasons,” Zelda says, her voice reflexively falling into the tones of regality. “First, I’d like to check on Vah Naboris. I believe it’s stopped working recently?”

Riju nods.

“Then Urbosa, who piloted it as a spirit to help us defeat Ganon, has finally passed on. Still, I’d like to examine it to make sure that it’s working correctly. Next, I’d like to ask you to become its new pilot. I know it is a dangerous task, and a massive undertaking for someone who is already  tasked with leading their people, but-”

“-I’d be honored,” Riju says quickly. Startled, Zelda looks over at her and sees nothing but pure, breathless excitement on her face.

“...Really?” Zelda asks.

“Lady Urbosa was once chief and a Champion. If you’re giving me the opportunity to live up to her legacy, then it would be the greatest honor I could possibly take.”

“Oh! That was surprisingly easy,” Zelda says, exchanging a look with Link. “The last pilot I asked took a significant amount of convincing.”

Of course, it was so much more than that. She thinks back to Sidon and the way he helplessly looked at Mipha’s statue, empathy burning in her chest like coals in a flame. His struggles are his own - they’re not stories for her to share, especially not to the leader of an entirely different people than his.

She looks at Riju and the fire in her eyes, and wonders if she’s ever felt crushed by the weight of her legacy as well.

“We can visit Vah Naboris tomorrow,” Riju says. “I’ve never been in it myself, so I would love to see what the inside is like.”

“Will we be taking sand seals there?” Link asks with a curious look in his eyes that Zelda is both thrilled and terrified by. He’s so adept at taking her out of her own mind, but sometimes with the most harebrained ideas.

Riju has the same look in her eyes. “Of course. Are you thinking of what I think you’re thinking of?”

Link nods eagerly. Even Buliara looks amused.

Zelda is utterly lost. “I’m sorry, what? What’s so funny?”

“You’ll love it,” Link says, clearly mouthing at Riju to  _ keep it a secret _ . Riju giggles, sounding like a child for the first time since Zelda has met her.

The topic purposely careens away from whatever secret Link and Riju refuse to tell Zelda for the rest of the conversation, frustrating her to no end. She tries to convince Link to tell her later that night, after they’ve retired to the quarters reserved for guests of the chief (a place that Zelda suspects hasn’t been used since she last stayed here over a century ago), but he still refuses to budge.

The last thing she sees is Link’s wild grin as he retreats to his own room. The sight keeps her other thoughts, ones dyed in darkness, far at bay.

 

*

 

There are a strange subset of Hylians that are simply obsessed with horses. Zelda suspects that this is why the stables survived the Calamity, rather than more sensible buildings like trade posts or other rest areas. These Hylians dedicate their lives to the care, knowledge, and continued enhancement of horses as creatures. They’re absolutely enamored with the beasts and Zelda, having always found horses to be a little odd and funny-smelling, has never seen the appeal.

Link is definitely one of those Hylians.

Riju is similar, but with sand seals instead of horses.

The things are somewhat cute, in an ugly kind of way, save for Riju’s own hideous pet. The top of its mane is tied up using a cute red bow and is the only cute thing about the wretch.

By the way Riju looks at it, Zelda would think she’s watching a basket full of kittens.

“This is Patricia, my best friend. She may not look it, but she is very wise. Isn’t that right, Link?”

Link nods as he steps forward to offer Patricia a wildberry. She eats it right out of his hand, covering it with slobber in the process, and lets out a series of barks.

“What’d she say?” Link asks, genuinely curious. He can’t be playing along with Riju, can he? There’s no conceivable way he’d believe that this creature could dispense any sort of wisdom, right?

It dawns on Zelda that this may be the secret they kept from her the night before. A sand seal that can talk? Preposterous. Zelda is not foolish enough to believe them.

“Padda is a little better at translating than I am, but I think she said something like this - today’s sandstorms may look scary, but they’re hardly a sealious threat,” Riju says.

“I’m sorry, sealious?” Zelda asks, steadfastly ignoring Link as he cracks up at the awful pun.

“Patricia likes using puns,” Riju explains. “As does our dear Champion.”

“I knew about the second,” Zelda says, “But I had no clue of the first.”

“I think they’re charming,” Riju says, lovingly stroking Patricia’s mane. The seal barks in appreciation and leans into Riju’s touch, nearly knocking her off balance.

It’s a charming scene, one that  overcomes Zelda’s dislike of the seal and instead long for a pet of her own. Princesses were generally too busy to waste their time taking care of an animal, let alone a princess that was supposed to save the entire kingdom.

When she was four, she asked her mother for a kitten. Five was a big number, the biggest number she had ever had, and so it deserved a big present. Her mother thought that her reasoning was sound, but her father dismissed her request. She got a number of dresses that year instead, one for each year of her life, and she hated every one of them.

But a few days after her fifth birthday, her mother snuck her into town and let her play with the kittens that the grain seller kept. It wasn’t one of her own, but it was wonderful. A few years after she passed, Zelda again asked for a kitten. Again, the answer was no.

She’s hit with a pang of longing for her mother, for the memories that they could have made but were never able to. For all the kittens they could have played with together but were never able to.

She wants to dismiss it as a silly thought, a long forgotten relic for a woman who she barely ever knew. More thoughts, ugly and gnarled, bubble up within her once one slithers out, but she pushes them all away. Now is not a time to reminisce.

Riju and Link teach her how to ride a sand seal. The wind on her face is hot and she gets sand in her mouth more than once, but only because she can’t stop herself from shouting in delight. It’s like shield surfing, but smoother. The seals roll easily in and out of the sand, passing through it like a boat through calm waters.

The seals are so fast that their ride comes to an end much too quickly, but only after stepping off the Gerudo shield Riju lent her does she realize that they stopped nowhere near Vah Naboris.

As it turns out, the secret they wanted to show her was sand seal racing.

Zelda wants to sing with joy. She is a terrible singer, so she easily resists the urge.

The races are exhilarating. Staying balanced on her shield while pushing her seal to go as fast as it can quickly becomes a challenge, especially as she’s forced to take sharp turns just to reach a goal. She flies off her shield at least once and ends up sprawled face-first in the sand, but Link is so reckless that he ends up in the same position three different times. It’s not much of a victory, but one that Zelda will gladly take.

Naturally, Riju beats both of them with ease.

The way she moves with Patricia is amazing, to say the least. Riju barks out Gerudo phrases, only a few of which Zelda can recognize over the wind whipping her ears and the roar of shifting sands, and Patricia obeys them instantly. How long have they been together? Where did Riju get Patricia from - was she a gift, or did Riju tame her herself?

Zelda knows so little about this girl. She knows so many facets of Gerudo culture, and while she knew so much about Urbosa, she knows almost nothing about their new chief.

It isn’t politics or diplomacy that drives her next decision.

It’s the desire to make a new friend.

 

*

 

Vah Naboris is just as barren as Vah Ruta was. Riju walks through its interior in what Zelda can only describe as pure wonder. Did Zelda look like that the first time she discovered the Guardians? What about the first time she used the Sheikah Slate - did that rush of emotion, untamed and powerful, manifest itself for all around her to see?

There is so much beauty in watching someone fall in love for the first time.

Zelda takes her on a tour, explaining its mechanisms the same way she overheard Purah and Robbie explain it dozens of times before, in a life far away from this one. Vah Naboris was always the Guardian Beast she knew best, its walls like the home of an old friend’s. Speaking about it, describing its mechanics and controls to an eager audience, feels wholly right in a way that so few things in Zelda’s life have ever felt. Like every single step Hylia has had her take led her here, to this exact moment.

Eventually it becomes obvious that Riju can’t keep up with Zelda’s increasingly-complicated explanations of how Vah Naboris is able to generate lightning, and the two of them end up sitting on the outer edge of Vah Naboris’s body, sharing slices of hydromelon like she and Urbosa used to do.

Link is off...somewhere. Probably racing more sand seals or fighting Moldugas for fun; Zelda didn’t quite catch his parting words before he ran off into the desert like a cucco with its head cut off. She gets the feeling that he left on purpose, the brilliant man.

Just as Zelda prepares herself to ask Riju a question to get to know her better, Riju takes the initiative and asks, “What was Urbosa like?”

It isn’t a question Zelda expected, but one that makes sense given what little she’s seen of Riju. In a way, it’s exactly the type of question she hoped for.

How does she describe Urbosa? What words could she summon that could possibly do someone like her justice? She was so many things: powerful, brilliant, kind, surprisingly shrewd, resilient, always full of a laughter that comforted Zelda more than anything else in the world.

“She was like a mother to me,” Zelda says. “She was everything I think a mother should be.”

It clearly isn’t the answer Riju expected, but her shock fades quickly. In that aspect, Zelda and Riju are alike. “I’ve read her journal, and it’s obvious that she thought of you as a daughter.”

“After my mother passed, Urbosa was the one who supported me. She wrote me almost every week.” She kept those letters in a small basket in her room, right underneath her bed. Did they survive the desecration of the castle, or were their words wiped away by the Calamity?

Zelda wants to know, but the thought of returning to that prison is too much to bear. She suppresses a shudder, and continues to speak.

“She was the kind of person everyone looked up to. She could make even the worst situations seem hopeful.”

_ She was stronger than I ever was _ , Zelda doesn’t say.

“My mother was a little like that, too. She was an amazing chief. She strengthened our infrastructure and reignited our people’s passion for crafting. Whenever someone needed something, she personally made sure that they received it, whether it was a wildberry tea or a salve of Molduga guts. It didn’t matter how big or small - she did it all for our people.” Riju’s smile is wistful and a little too old for her young face. “She moved on to live with our ancestors when I was twelve. I’ve been chief since.”

“I can’t imagine taking on such a huge position so young,” Zelda says. “That’s such a heavy responsibility.”

“I thought I’d never be a good enough leader to my people. Sometimes, I still think that,” Riju says quietly. “I don’t know if Link told you, but I was in the middle of a string of failures when I first met him. If it wasn’t for his help, Vah Naboris would have destroyed Gerudo Town and I would have lost my mother’s Thunder Helm forever.”

“If it wasn’t for Link, I would have been consumed by Ganon,” Zelda says quietly. “Even now, with peace finally on the horizon, he continues to save me.”

“He’s a good voe. Probably the best I’ve met, though I haven’t exactly met many in my life.”

They share a small moment of laughter.

“I have so many more questions to ask you. I don’t know where to start,” Riju says.

“Questions for me? Surely I’m not as wise as you think I am.”

“You survived the Calamity, and not only that, but you ended it! From what I saw today, you know Vah Naboris as well as Urbosa must have. And rather than going straight for the throne, you’re traveling the land to learn more about the new generation of Hyrule. I think that’s incredibly wise,” Riju says, folding her arms, convinced of her own truth and certain that Zelda should also be convinced of the same. “And…”

Riju falters, again losing touch with the persona of a wise ruler, leaving a child in its wake. “You know what it’s like to lose your family.”

Zelda’s throat tightens and she finds herself unable to speak. She nods instead.

More than the mark of sovereignty, more than the people they look up to, they are bonded by that shared loss. There’s an understanding between them, formed from a few simple words, that runs down to the cores of who they are. They are both girls who were forced into roles they weren’t ready for after enduring a pain that is never deserved.

“I know it’s been so many years since your mother and father each passed, but… do you still think of them?” Riju asks.

“Every day,” Zelda answers.

“Me too.”

Zelda sees tears gather in the corners of Riju’s eyes, but she dabs them away with her fingertips, careful not to disturb her makeup. “I can’t let anyone see me with my makeup disturbed,” she explains. “Gerudo rarely sweat, and Buliara would know I’ve been crying if I come back and my eyeliner is smudged. I can’t let her know.”

Zelda doesn’t need to ask why. She understands all too well, what it’s like to put on a brave face when there is a storm within your soul. She knows what its like to carry a kingdom on your back, just as she knows what its like to paste the cracks in your endurance together with false confidence.

When her mother died, Zelda didn’t let her sorrows show on her face. Princesses weren’t allowed to cry, not even at their mother’s funerals. She hardened herself, too young to know that there were other ways to survive. What should have been a wellspring of grief turned into a void in her heart.

Part of that still exists, having been morphed and changed with every death she lived past. Another fallen friend meant another piece of her was forever lost.

It may never leave, but at the very least, it becomes easier to deal with. These past few months have eased her heartache more than a century of letting time’s currents pass around her ever had.

She thinks back to what Link said on the edge of the ruins, his grim face illuminated by their camp’s small flame. She can’t let her grief become a prison.

She hopes the same for Riju.

 

*

 

Link comes and goes like an alley cat, appearing and disappearing with a leisure that Zelda has never been able to replicate. He only does this when he knows that she’s safe, but she suspects that it’s more in line with his natural state than his knighthood ever was.

His company is a comfort unlike any other, but she’s never lost her hunger for freedom. She is grateful for whatever she can get, just as she’s grateful that he doesn’t feel bound to her side.

He’s promised to come back and see Zelda off before she goes to bed, and that’s all that matters.

For now, Zelda sits in Riju’s room. They’ve both left their respective crowns at the door; here, they are nothing more than blossoming friends. Their youth, or whatever still counts as youth for them, is not a burden here.

“Can you read Gerudo?” Riju asks.

Zelda shakes her head. “I’ve studied the language, but never enough to be fluent. I can maybe grasp the overall message of a piece of writing, but nuance is lost on me.”

Riju leaves her bed and goes to the extensive bookshelf at the other side of her room. As she looks for whatever she presumably wants to show Zelda, Zelda wonders how many of those books are written in the common language. She’d love to read anything that Riju would be willing to lend her. The Gerudo, like the Zora, are a proud people and document their history extensively.

“Ah, here it is,” Riju says, pulling a journal out of the shelf. She grabs a different journal splayed open on a table at the foot of her bed and returns with both of them in her arms. “This is Lady Urbosa’s journal,” she says, setting the book from the shelf on the bed directly in front of Zelda. “And this,” she says, holding the one from the table in her hand, “Is its translation into common. Having done most of the translation myself, I’m confident that it’s accurate, but there’s one phrase I wanted to ask you about.”

“Me? I don’t know Gerudo, though. I don’t think I can be of much help.”

“But you knew Lady Urbosa,” Riju says, handing Zelda the translated journal.

The moment Zelda reads the first words, the words carrying Urbosa’s strong voice but scribed in an unfamiliar hand, she feels as if she’s transported back in time.

_ You will persevere, my little bird. I’ve never been more sure of anything else _ .

The last words Urbosa ever said to her, a spirit’s whisper to an ethereal form.

She vaguely remembers her mother murmuring the same nickname into her hair once or twice, but mostly, she remembers the way those syllables rolled off Urbosa’s tongue with astounding fluidity.

_ Urbosa, you’ve given me so much. You always have. _

She sets down the journal and Riju silently hands her a stuffed sand seal. Zelda hugs it tightly, grateful for something soft and kind to wrap herself around. It isn’t a living being, but there’s something comforting in the plush fabric. Strangely, it makes her feel safer.

“There’s a specific phrase Urbosa uses in our language whenever she refers to your mother. I didn’t want to assume wrongly, so I translated it to dear friend,” Riju explains. “But it could mean something else.”

Zelda thinks of Urbosa, and of the soft, sad smile she held whenever she spoke of Zelda’s mother. She spoke her name as if whispering a secret, even a decade after her death. “What else?”

“Our word is vathi. There’s no direct translation, but I think Hylians have a similar concept. I think they’re called soulmates in your language.”

Soulmates - the more romantic, idealized version of two souls forever destined to meet. She knows all too well how firm the hand of fate can be, but she somehow doubts that it is naive enough to craft two people only for each other to have and hold.

But having your fate forever be intertwined with someone else’s? That single idea has driven so much of her life.

There is always a princess. There is always a hero. And there is always an evil to face.

“But,” Riju says, saving Zelda from her own mind, “I don’t think our concepts exactly alike. Our term isn’t as rigid as yours. For the Gerudo, a vathi is someone who has such a profound impact on you, who you love so dearly, that they change the course of your life. They’re like the desert winds, changing the course you try to chart across the sand. Very few people ever meet someone worthy of being called that, so one doesn’t use it lightly.”

“She called my mother by that, didn’t she?”

Riju nods. “It’s usually romantic, but I’ve heard stories of platonic vathi. It’s almost never familial, though. Implying that one of our old chiefs was in love with the queen of Hyrule felt a little,” Riju pauses, “disrespectful. So I went with the less controversial translation, but I wanted to ask you which one you think is more accurate.”

Urbosa rarely spoke of Zelda’s mother, just as Zelda rarely asked about her. It wasn’t that Zelda didn’t want to talk about her - she had so many questions, ones that she never felt comfortable enough to ask her father. But she saw the pain on Urbosa’s face whenever she asked, and she couldn’t keep hurting someone she loved like that.

It’s the same reason why she doesn’t like to share Link’s old memories with him. Some things are simply too painful to remember.

But there was one single time that Zelda asked, right before she scaled Mount Lanayru. It wasn’t a direct question, but she had never expected the answer she received. She had asked Urbosa what triggered her powers.

Urbosa told her a story, one where she and Zelda’s mother were not yet chief and queen, but merely two friends who happened to meet while Urbosa was out traveling Hyrule. Urbosa convinced Zelda’s mother to finally leave the walls of Castle Town, only for them to be ambushed by monsters.

There were too many, and Urbosa wasn’t fast enough. One attacked Zelda’s mother. Overcome with fury, Urbosa pushed the monster away, and the next thing she knew, lightning arced down from the sky and obliterated the monsters.

Urbosa had never been that angry before, she explained. Neither had she ever loved someone so deeply that she couldn’t stand to see them hurt.

“I don’t believe it’s disrespectful,” Zelda says. “I think it’s accurate.”

Riju tries to stay calm as she crosses out the old phrasing and replaces it with something truer to life, but she’s unable to fully mask her excitement. Amused, Zelda says, “You’re more excited than I would have expected.”

Finishing her writing, Riju sets the journal off to the side and scoots closer to Zelda, grabbing her own giant stuffed sand seal and squishing it between her arms. “Forgive me. Urbosa was actually a distant aunt of mine - before the Calamity, she established my great-grandmother, her younger sister, as her successor. Do you know what that means?”

Zelda shakes her head.

Riju’s eyes glitter. “In another life, we could have been sisters.”

 

*

 

Riju’s words stay with Zelda over the next few days. Even as they train, as Zelda pours over Vah Naboris’s commands and teaches Riju about every facet of the Divine Beast, she hears those words echoed in her head.

She had always dreamed of having a sister.  

As a child, her single greatest fantasy was being a Gerudo scientist. In her perfect world, she would have been Urbosa’s daughter, free to live within a world that only ever expected her to become strong and righteous. The Gerudo didn’t have to worry about prophecies or destiny, of slaying evil fated to return. Their lives were dangerous, but she could have spent her childhood fighting Lizalfos and studying the mysteries of the desert than on her knees, praying to a goddess she thought was deaf.

In another world, she could have had that.

But not in this one.

 

*

 

“Do you want to try a Noble Pursuit?” Link asks Zelda one night, right as she’s about to get ready for bed.

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“A Noble Pursuit. It’s a drink.”

“Um, I suppose? Do you have one already and are offering me a sip?”

Link shakes his head. “The owner won’t let me buy one. She says I look too young.”

That’s when the pieces fall into place. Zelda jumps to her feet and points an accusatory finger at Link. “You want me to buy you alcohol!”

Having been caught, Link raises his hands in the air like a criminal, but there’s not even a shred of guilt on his face. “I’m curious! Aren’t you?”

“Seeing as I had never heard of it before now, no, I was not!”

“But you’re curious  _ now _ .”

Zelda glares at Link, who simply grins back at her. He knows he’s won and she hates it. She’s never had alcohol before, not even the few sips of wine usually customary for royalty at fancy dinner meetings with nobility. Even as her father enjoyed whatever drink he wished, Zelda was banned from anything but water and tea, out of fear that it could somehow disrupt her training.

On her seventeenth birthday, the day considered to be her transition into adulthood, she celebrated by freezing in an answerless spring and watching her kingdom crumble.

If Hylia’s will allows it, then Zelda deserves a drink.

“I suppose I am,” Zelda replies.

Link takes her to the bar, a lively place full of happy chatter and soft piano music. Link hides just outside the entrance as Zelda walks in. She stands as tall as she can, stepping fully into her regal persona in hopes that she’ll seem more mature.

Doubt swirls within her, but she doesn’t let it show.

“Sav’saaba,” Zelda says, hoping that she’s using the correct greeting for the time of day, “I’d like two Noble Pursuits, please.”

The barkeep raises an eyebrow. “...Two? And aren’t you a little young for this kind of place? I don’t know what it is off in the rest of Hyrule, but the legal drinking age here is twenty.”

Zelda stuffs her quickly rising panic somewhere deep inside her. “I’m much older than I look,” she says, careful to keep her nose pointed slightly up and her voice light.

The barkeep squints at her and Zelda forces herself to make eye contact in some attempt to accredit herself. It reminds her a little too much of animals trying to establish dominance for her comfort.

Somehow, it works. The barkeep relents. “Fine. I’m not that great at telling Hylians apart, anyways. You never look grown up until you’re about to die of old age.” She pulls out a glass from underneath the counter, but when she reaches for another one, she hesitates. “Why do you want two?”

Zelda scrambles for an answer and says the first thing that comes to mind. “For… for Buliara! She’s about to end her watch for the night and requested I bring her a Noble Pursuit along with one for myself. She insists that I try one while I’m here.”

It isn’t too far from the truth, if she replaces Buliara’s name with Link and ignores the fact that Buliara would never let her drink underage, century spent without a body or not.

“Buliara never ends her shifts this early,” the barkeep mutters. Zelda mentally prepares for the worst, expecting to be caught in her own lies. “I guess she’s finally easing up on our old chief! It’ll be good for the both of them,” she finishes with a laugh.

Zelda barely catches herself before she slumps in relief, instead forcing herself to stay in place. She nods instead. “I agree.”

A few minutes later, Zelda exits the bar, a drink in each hand. Link is  _ ecstatic _ when he sees her, trotting at her side with a gleam in his eye not entirely dissimilar from a dog that gets a whiff of food.

They return to Zelda’s quarters, and only after the door is shut does she hand him his own drink. He unclasps the veil from his face and collapses into a nearby chair, swirling its straw around with a single finger, rapidly approaching something that looks close to pure joy.

“You’re not going to change?” Zelda asks, taking the seat next to him.

Link shakes his head. “I’ve kind of gotten used to this outfit. Besides, part of me is convinced that if I change back into my regular clothes, Buliara would descend from the ceiling and kick me out of town.

Zelda laughs. “I wouldn’t put that past her.”

“Exactly.” Link takes a sip of his drink and immediately begins to cough. “That’s stronger than I thought it would be. No wonder Pokki is so obsessed with these.”

Ignoring the unfamiliar name, Zelda focuses on the part of his words that intrigues her more. “Than you thought? Have you drank before?”

Link looks much less guilty than she believes he should be. “A few times here and there. Drinking laws aren’t exactly the strictest these days.”

When every road is plagued by monsters and even the best protected villages can be ransacked by thieves, what’s the point in denying a teenager something to dull their senses?

What’s the point in denying herself that reprieve?

Zelda takes a sip of her own drink and almost spits it out. Through sheer will she manages to swallow it, leaving her coughing instead. Link’s soft laugh is unmistakable, but when it’s coupled with his hand gently patting Zelda’s back as she coughs nonstop, it’s much more soothing than it is aggravating.

Her second sip goes down much more smoothly. The taste is bitter, but with just enough hint of wildberry to make it bearable. It goes down her throat with an icy chill, but soon settles and radiates warmth through her body.

Her drink is half-empty before she knows it. Despite the chilly night, she feels warm from the alcohol, a pleasant looseness to her limbs that helps to melt any stray tension away.

Link doesn’t sprawl in his chair the way Zelda has, but his cheeks are redder than usual and his eyes seem more relaxed.

She thinks, not for the first time, that he is beautiful. Handsome, yes, but being handsome doesn’t capture the wild freedom he carries with him or the way he is when his guard is finally lowered.

“You look happy,” he says. “I’m glad.”

“I suppose I am happy right now,” Zelda says, all too glad to not have to share her real thoughts. It takes her a moment to realize that his words remain true. She  _ is _ happy in this moment. “I’m happy to be here with you.”

Link takes another sip of his drink, bringing it to his face as if trying to hide behind it. Zelda giggles at the sight, but decides to spare him the embarrassment slightly. “What if we remained like this forever?”

Link seems grateful for the change of topic, grateful enough to set his drink down. “Tipsy? We wouldn’t get much done.”

“No, not like that!” Zelda says, though she’s unable to keep her giggle out of her voice. “Free to explore the land, experience different cultures, without having to answer back to anyone or anything. What if we could just  _ be _ ?”

Link looks thoughtful. “I think that would  _ be _ pretty nice.”

And then promptly dissolves into drunken giggles. Zelda wants to be mad, but finds herself laughing as well.

How has he always been so good at this? Time has not changed his ability to draw her out into the open, away from her fears and her failures. Few people in the world have ever made her laugh as easily as him.

Even fewer people would charge into the belly of evil itself to save her. No one but him would stay by her side afterwards.

She has a duty to her kingdom. She has a throne to rebuild and return to, people to strengthen, and a new system of government to put into place, whatever that may look like. She has the mantle of a monarch waiting to wrap itself around her neck and settle on her shoulders.

But Link? He has done his part. He is a hero, but now, he is free to be anything else as well. She has told him multiple times that he is allowed to leave. Even when he does, he always returns.

The sword that seals his darkness, the same that sealed his destiny, still sits on his back, but she knows that will not last for much longer. The sword never stays with its hero for forever.

The alcohol must be making her lips looser, because she finds herself saying something she doesn’t expect. “You’re the dearest friend I’ve ever had.”

He looks a little shocked at her words, but she finds herself in a similar situation. The term that Riju taught her the day before buzzes in the back of her mind, eager to make itself known.

She is not drunk enough to reveal that. There may not be enough alcohol in the world to make her say that.

“Do you think there’s ever been a time where the princess and hero hated each other?” he asks.

_ No. Never. _

She doesn’t only think that answer. She feels it, deep in her heart and echoing through her bones.

Maybe this is what the Seventh Sage, the Princess of Time, felt when she met her friend from the forest.

No, she realizes.

This is what she felt when he finally returned to her.

She counter his question with one of her own. “Do you think there was ever a time where the princess and the hero crossed paths but never knew it? Where the princess wasn’t a princess, but a cadet in training, or a priestess, or even a simple baker? Or where the hero never became a hero, but was simply a boy?”

Has there ever been a princess who wasn’t defined by her blood? A princess who just got to be a girl, who just got to meet a hero who was nothing more than a boy?

The hero can come from anywhere, but the princess always came from the castle.

“I think so,” Link says. “They just aren’t the people who get songs written about them eons after they die.”

“But is that really such a bad thing?”

“No. I think it sounds pretty peaceful.”

They each take another sip in silence. The air is quiet around them, the town’s nighttime clamor finally having died down. Somewhere, there are Gerudo taking classes on cooking or sharing a drink after a long day of work.

But that is somewhere else. Here, it is only them.

“If I had to be destined to meet anyone, I’m glad it was you,” Link says.

Maybe this feeling, this odd swirling sensation within Zelda that arises at Link’s words, is what drove Urbosa to call Zelda’s mother her vathi. Did Urbosa feel anchored, yet somehow impossibly light at the same time after meeting her? Did she feel a kind of draw stronger than any magnet this world could ever create? A force so powerful it could inspire her to move mountains?

To march into the lair of demise and face it head-on, able to hold your head high because you could not allow a reality to exist where you left them to wither and die?

That must be the case.

Urbosa gave Zelda countless gifts, but her bond with Link is the one that she treasures most.

This time, Zelda doesn’t respond with her words. She takes another sip of her drink and stands up.

And then, overcome with a sudden bout of nerves, she takes another sip. Only after that does she go to Link and wrap him in her arms.

 

*

 

At least half of Riju’s massive bookcase is dedicated to Gerudo history. She has the journals of every chief in the past five-hundred years, detailed reports on the very first Gerudo Town’s construction, songs and legends so old that the people have forgotten their words even as they hum the melodies, and so much more.

What strikes Zelda the most is the way her eyes glitter as she shows them off, speaking with such a familiarity that she must have read every book multiple times. Riju is nothing short of an expert on her culture.

“Here’s one you may find interesting,” Riju says, grabbing a small stool so she can reach a book at the top shelf. It’s a dusty old thing, clad in a worn brown leather casing. Riju blows the dust off it and flips it open, eyes quickly scanning the pages for whatever information she’s so excited about. “I assume you’ve heard the legend about the Hero of Winds?” she asks, thumbing through a few pages.

Zelda nods. She doesn’t know everything about the legends of her ancestors and the heroes that helped them, but she knows that one.

A hero who never returned. A Hyrule submerged deep underwater after evil ravaged the land and left the Goddesses with no other choice. A boy on an island who took to the seas to rescue his kidnapped sister, only to rescue and redeem the entire kingdom. Together with the princess of that era, one who he helped reconnect with her lost lineage, he defeated the Evil King.

“I do,” Zelda says.

“Did you know the princess was also a pirate?” Riju asks, showing Zelda a page out of the journal. It’s written in an archaic version of Hylian, but it is still unmistakably Hylian. The handwriting is sloppy, looping out in sudden curves and slashes that reminds Zelda of a rocking boat.

_ I guess I can accept this whole princess thing, but I’m still a pirate through and through! My name is and always will be Tetra, no matter what anyone else says. _

_ But I do like the name Zelda. If I have a daughter, maybe I’ll name her that _ , it reads.

Zelda’s heard the legends of this princess all throughout her childhood, but never did she once hear that the princess was a  _ pirate _ . A thrill goes through her at this new discovery. Her ancestor! A pirate! Amazing!

“Here’s a sketch of her that I found in another journal,” Riju says, handing Zelda a surprisingly detailed picture of a young girl. The colors are bright, popping off the page in a style of art that Zelda has never seen before. The girl on the page winks up at Zelda. Her hair is light like Zelda’s, and her eyes are a deep blue, but her skin is as dark as Riju’s and the sword her other hand rests on bears a striking resemblance to Gerudo weapons.

If anything, it’s the spitting image of Urbosa’s old weapon.

Why wasn’t this in the castle records? Why didn’t the royal family of Hyrule have a picture of their own ancestor?

Why do the Gerudo have this, when she never did?

“I don’t understand,” Zelda says.

“Maybe this will help,” Riju says, pulling out a different book, one much more official-looking than the journals she previously had. She doesn’t hand this one to Zelda, but instead flips to a page and reads it silently. “Apparently, there were a branch of Gerudo that became pirates. Can you believe that? Pirates! The Gerudo, who have only ever been known as the people of the desert, became pirates!”

The pieces finally click into place. “Are you saying that my ancestor could have been a Gerudo?”

Riju smiles, less the smirk of a monarch than the smile of a young girl reuniting with someone she has spent far too long waiting for. “ We have a saying that I think in your language would translate to something like one drop of Gerudo blood is enough to make a woman into a warrior. She must have had Gerudo blood in her. Seeing as she’s your ancestor, the same goes for you.”

All that, and she never knew.

Did Urbosa ever know? Could she tell? Was that one drop of blood what drew her to Zelda’s mother - that feeling of finding another member of her own race?

_ Urbosa, I wish you were still here. There’s so much I want to ask. _

She hopes that wherever she is, her spirit has found rest.

And she hopes that she found Zelda’s mother again, in whatever comes after death.

“What do you dream of for Hyrule’s future?” Riju asks, drawing Zelda out of her thoughts.

What does she dream of?

Is it of a rebuilt Castle Town, bustling with merchants and musicians and life? A castle that newly-minted aristocrats pop in and out of, scurrying through its massive halls like mice?

Are there even enough Hylians left in all of Hyrule to populate  _ half _ of Castle Town, let alone enough staff to run the daily ins-and-outs of an entire castle?

Zelda doesn’t think so. Not from what she’s seen. Not anymore.

“I’m not sure,” she says.

“Then what of your own future?”

Zelda pauses, considering Riju’s question. A phrase from Urbosa’s journal comes to her mind, and she gives it voice, letting its truth ring in the air.

“Happiness.”

Riju nods sagely. “A good answer, though a little vague.”

“Well, what of you? Do you know what you want?”

Riju’s eyes shine with something that Zelda saw countless times in her old life: ambition. Unlike those nobles of old, Zelda does not immediately worry when she sees this. She knows Riju well enough to know that her ambition, as young and untempered as it must be, isn’t the kind that would ruin others solely for her own gain.

“I’ve never seen it myself, but I know there’s a vast ocean at the eastern end of Hyrule. I want to know what’s on the other side.”

So she wants to become a pirate?

Zelda forces herself not to laugh. Her lip doesn’t even twitch upward.

Still, there’s something admirable in a dream that large. Thankfully, she’s saved from having to find a response when Riju decides to speak again.

“I know there may very well be nothing, but I want to see it for myself. If my people could be pirates elsewhere, what stops us here? We can learn how to build boats and sail - I’ve seen books on it. If we’ve done it before, we can do it again.”

If Zelda had heard anyone else say this, then she would have labeled the idea as preposterous. No one even knows if the eastern ocean  _ has _ an end. Besides that, the Gerudo have been a desert-dwelling people for as long as they’ve kept records. Even if some of her ancestors became pirates, that doesn’t mean that the Gerudo Riju is descended from were pirates themselves.

Yet none of that matters, not when it’s faced with Riju’s drive and dedication.

“It may take you many years to accomplish, but I have a feeling that you can do it,” Zelda says.

And if Riju can be a pirate, and if Urbosa could be Zelda’s surrogate mother despite no real blood relation, then why does Zelda have to settle for being nothing more than a princess?

Why does she have to settle for a castle and a throne being the pinnacle of a restored Hyrule, when it could be something entirely different - and just as good?

 

*

 

Zelda and Riju pose for a picture together before they leave. Initially, Zelda asks Link to take it, but it comes out so poorly that she is forced to teach Buliara how to take pictures in hopes of getting something passable.

Buliara, to her credit, is much better at taking pictures than Link, despite only using the Sheikah Slate for a grand total of two minutes.

Zelda leaves Riju with promises to write frequently and visit whenever she gets the chance. She also manages to get the Thunder Helm back from Link, despite his stubborn refusal to mention the object in Riju’s presence for the entire time they stayed in Gerudo Town.

This place is not a place Zelda could call home, but this small town has always been a sanctuary to her. The people are different, but their strong hearts remain.

Blood or not, Riju is the closest thing to a sister Zelda has ever had.

Link stops to buy three slices of hydromelon from a vendor on their way out of the town square. As he jogs back to Zelda, he catches the attention of a Hylian woman holding a small journal. She follows him back to where Zelda waits.

“Link, I heard you’ve been stayin’ in the chief’s own guest rooms! Have you been workin’ for her these past few weeks?” she asks, the pen in her hand poised over the paper, waiting for his response the same way a tiger waits for their prey to look away before pouncing.

“You could say that,” Link says, wordlessly handing Zelda a slice of hydromelon and keeping the other two for himself.

“More trouble with the Yiga clan? Another priceless Gerudo heirloom stolen by those awful thieves that you had to get back on her behalf?”

How does this woman know that…? Zelda looks her over. Her eyes are sharp and intelligent, and she carries herself with an air of importance.

“Here’s a new scoop,” Link says, a sour edge of annoyance in his voice, “Riju and I are friends.”

The woman scribbles something in her journal before whipping around to face Zelda. “And you! I’ve seen you around town with Riju these past few weeks. You don’t  _ look _ like an average Hylian, not with that light hair of yours, but you look familiar. I can’t figure out why…” she steps closer to Zelda, who instinctively takes a step back. Her hand drifts down to the Sheikah Slate, the same way it does whenever she and Link encounter monsters.

Stasis doesn’t hurt if she accidentally casts it on this woman, will it?

“Oh, I never introduced myself! I’m Traysi, reporter extraordinaire and writer of the rumor mill journals! You may have seen them around Hyrule.”

“I… have, actually,” Zelda says slowly. “I’m Zelda. Nice to meet you.”

Though given the fact that Zelda is not making an effort to hide her wariness, that last part may not be entirely accurate.

Once Zelda says her name, realization dawns over Traysi’s face the same way that a winter frost develops over weak saplings that sprouted too late.

“You’re the old princess! I  _ knew  _ you weren’t dead! Ooh, I just got the scoop of the century! Are you free for an-”

Like a deer blinded by the glint of light off a sword about to slash its throat, Zelda is stunned.

But she doesn’t hear the end of Traysi’s sentence, as Link snatches the Sheikah Slate from her and teleports the both of them away. Gerudo Town melts away as they disappear into strands of blue light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how sometimes people will get really drunk, then go up to their friends all like, "HEY MAN I JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW... HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU. LIKE. SERIOUSLY, MAN, YOURE THE BEST". 
> 
> That's basically what Zelda did when she got drunk. I love her.


	6. Forgotten Temple/Rito Village (how quick to forget)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I hate to do this, I am going to change the update schedule - so this fic will update on Saturdays instead of Fridays.

_ A signpost sits in front of the Flight Range. The script is too far away to decipher, but the symbols carved into the wood are still fresh, filled with an ink that has yet to fully dry. Elder Kaneli, the leader of Rito Village, stands by the sign, his mirth reflected in his eyes. _

_ A new beginning for an old location. _

 

*

 

Zelda doesn’t have the faintest clue where she and Link teleported to. She snatches the Sheikah Slate back from him as soon as her body feels real enough to move again and pulls up its map function.

Since sealing Ganon, she’s never been to a place she hadn’t visited prior to the Calamity. But this place, labeled on her device as the Forgotten Temple, is one that she didn’t even know  _ existed _ before now. She had seen the icon on the Sheikah Slate multiple times, but never considered examining it further. She figured the matter could wait until they actually visited the Hebra region.

“What is this place?” Zelda asks. “And why are we here?” she says, spinning on her heel to better face Link, “And what about that woman? Who was she? What’s going on!?”

Link’s hands are raised at his sides, the criminal that he is, but he looks much more confused than she would have expected him to be. “You mean you don’t recognize this place?”

“Why would I? And nevermind that! I want to know who that woman was and why you reacted the way you did!”

Link’s hands fall to his side as his gaze drifts away from her, still just as guilty as before. “Traysi’s articles are all over Hyrule. They’re in almost every stable across the country. I know how much you like traveling, but once she finds out who you really are, she’ll spread it, and we won’t be able to keep doing this.”

Zelda draws herself up a little taller. Some underdeveloped, immature part of her thrills at how she’s still slightly taller than him. She feels powerful, though it isn’t lost on her how cats must feel this power when they’re unaware of the wolf lurking in the shadows. “On whose authority, Link? I am the lone monarch. There is no aristocracy left, no noble class - Goddess above, there are barely enough Hylians left to populate three villages!”

“Four,” Link mutters to himself. Zelda ignores him.

“And for that matter, disappearing into light is just as strange as anything else! Did you not consider that she would publish a story on that event alone, interview or not?”

“Well, I-”

“-wasn’t thinking? Yes, I can see that.”

She expects Link to shut down - her knight would have, not wanting to disobey her any further than he already had. He would have apologized and sunken into a silence so deep and so uncomfortable that the atmosphere between them wouldn’t lighten until one of them apologized.

But this Link grows defensive - no longer her knight, but the man who knows when she needs protection and when she must fend for herself.

He is above all her friend. Even within a hazy cloud of anger, she knows that.

“Have you considered that maybe  _ you’re _ the one who wasn’t thinking? Because I can definitely tell you what I was thinking, and that was to get you out of there as soon as possible! People read her works. She’s one of the most recognized names in all of Hyrule. Hylians may not be able to name the Zora King or the Rito Elder, but they can definitely name Traysi! If people know you’re back, people who aren’t as understanding as the other leaders of the races, they’re going to expect you to act. And honestly? I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”

He sounds like her father! Friend or not, she hears that patronizing edge in his voice and it makes her blood boil. “How do you know what I’m ready for? I’m not a child in any sense of the word, and you’re far from the paragon of maturity yourself! You have no right to tell me what I may or may not be ready for!”

Link grits his teeth. “Has every doubt you’ve had about what it means to restore Hyrule somehow magically disappeared in the span of five minutes? Or do you just hate traveling with me so much that you want it to be over?”

Zelda’s anger fizzles into nothing and her shoulders slump, the invisible line of tension holding her in place suddenly snapped. “Never,” she says, thinking back to the moment they shared a few weeks prior, hidden away in Gerudo Town. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

It strikes her then, that Link is probably just as scared of what awaits them on the other end of this journey as well. She’s made it clear that he’s not tied to her side by anything outside of his own wishes, but she’s never made it clear what happens if he wishes to stay.

He has his own life, but he wants to be a part of hers.

_ Oh. _

“I just wish you would have told me something before acting so suddenly,” Zelda says, overcome with fondness for this ridiculous person in front of her. “I don’t need to be rescued from a reporter.”

“I know,” he says, “I just… panicked. We can go back if you want. Do the interview.”

Zelda shakes her head. “Let her write whatever she will.”

If she gets to stay like this a little bit longer, free to come and go as she pleases, then she’ll take it. Let the rumors come. Let the stories start.

She’s heard worse things before.

 

*

 

The Goddess statue in this temple is the second largest one that Zelda has ever seen, only slightly smaller than the monolithic dedication to Hylia housed in the Temple of Time.

She’s felt two forces warring on the edges of her conscience since coming to this area, though her anger at Link allowed her to temporarily ignore both. They are as familiar to her as her own reflection, and both inspire the same feelings of comfort and unease.

Zelda feels Hylia’s presence on her skin, a faint energy not entirely dissimilar to the static in the air that hangs after a thunderstorm. While many Goddess statues are covered in moss or slightly worn, this statue is breaking apart. Cracks run down Her face, splitting Her serene smile in two. Her robes are worn away, the intricate detail eroded by time.

Despite that, the statue still hums as she and Link approach. This time, Zelda isn’t sure which one between the two of them is making Hylia sing more - herself, or Her hero?

She doesn’t kneel, but she does stand at Her feet, close her eyes, and sends a prayer requesting guidance to the skies above.

_ When this journey does come to an end, please let me have peace. _

There isn’t sunlight here, at least not directly. The only light comes from the glow of the statue and a distant ray in the far distance, probably at the entrance to this temple.

Zelda leaves the statue and feels an involuntary shudder come over her. The further she walks from Hylia, the more dread comes over her.

It feels like a sliminess on her skin and a bitter tang in the back of her throat. After a moment, she realizes that it tastes like blood.

Link draws closer to her side and draws the Master Sword. It exudes a glow of its own, illuminating them with a gentle blue light. Zelda has not seen that light in such a long time, at least not with her own eyes.

Link is just as shocked as she is. “Guardians? Still? But I thought they were all destroyed when Ganon was sealed.”

It all makes sense now - she can sense the evil here, especially as she goes further away from Hylia’s statue, broken as it may be. But she does not need to be at Hylia’s feet to know that She is with Zelda, wherever she may go.

She takes another step towards what she assumes to be the entrance of the temple and a fresh wave of evil rolls over her, wracking her body from head to toe. She stops, willing herself not to give in to the sudden bout of nausea that overcomes her. She is stronger than this - if she had the power to hold Ganon back for a century, doesn’t she have the power to defeat a few stray Guardians that its presence still taints?

But doubt seizes her and she rips off her glove to check her hand. Sure enough, the Triforce still glows there, etched deep into her skin. Even if it didn’t, Link wouldn’t allow anything to harm her.

“How many do you think there are?” Zelda asks, turning to Link.

He doesn’t look pleased. “There must have been over a dozen. They were all stationary, but having six different Guardian beams trained on me at once was not fun.”

“Were you scared?”

He hesitates, but when she reaches out and squeezes his hand, he finds the strength to answer. “...Yeah.”

She allows herself a small thrill at the possibility that it was her touch that gave him enough comfort to be honest. That he trusts her enough to admit that. She squeezes his hand again and says, “That’s still courage - to act despite your fear. In fact, I think it’s more courageous than not having fear in the first place.”

His smile is small, but unmistakable. “The same applies to you,” he says.

“I know.”

She doesn’t tell him that he’s her greatest source of courage, but she isn’t sure that she really needs to. She pulls him forward as she starts walking, only for him to end up right at her side. The Triforce on her hand, now intertwined with his, seems to glow even brighter.

When they exit the area with the Goddess statue, Zelda hears a familiar hum - the hum of ancient machinery whirring into action. Multiple red lights align directly on their foreheads; three on Zelda’s and three on Link’s.

True to whatever knightley instincts are buried deep within him, Link leaps in front of Zelda and shields her. Her mind grows cloudy and her body seizes up, muscles wracked in fear as her mind replays those horrid memories that tormented her during her imprisonment.

The Guardians, clambering after them with their hateful eyes trained directly on Link.

Link, bloodied and battered with a broken sword, still trying to protect her.

Their friends, all fallen and trapped within the Divine Beasts that they once championed.

Mipha, slain.

Daruk, broken apart.

Revali, trapped.

Urbosa, gone.

Her mind tries to drift somewhere far away from this evil place, far away from the pains of the past that still haunt her dreams. Somewhere safe from these memories, from the feeling of failure.

Somehow, she still has enough strength of mind to cast a plea to Hylia.

_ Hylia, give me the strength to banish this evil. _

Hylia grants her prayer.

Zelda shakes away the storm clouds in her head and steps forward, bypassing Link as she moves in front of him. She raises a hand to the Guardian and focuses on the glowing Triforce reflected back at her.

She thinks of their nights by the campfire, the music of the Zora, sharing fish with Sidon, racing sand seals with Riju, watching the sunrise with Purah, and of all the beauty in the world that Ganon could never destroy.

She thinks of the warmth of Link’s hand in hers, and how they seem to fit so perfectly together.

Power swells up somewhere deep within Zelda, and a light erupts from her palm, freezing the Guardian in place. For a moment she is blinded as the room fills with a golden glow, but it soon fades.

The Guardian in front of her stutters once, twice, and then collapses into the stone. Zelda watches as streams of purple energy swirl out of the cracks between its armor and dissipate into the air. Every other Guardian in the room follows, leaving nothing behind but empty shells save for one in the furthest corner.

Zelda can still sense evil, but it isn’t as strong as before.

“I hope that Ganon is roaring in rage, wherever it may be,” she says dismissively, turning back to face Link. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Link’s mouth is hanging open in a stare stupid enough to rival a Bokoblin. He gains some semblance of normality when his mouth clicks shut. “That was even more amazing than I remember,” he whispers, as if speaking too loudly in this moment would ruin it.

She’s always thought he was amazing, even when she couldn’t stand him. She could never deny his skill, no matter how badly she may have wanted to. After they became friends, and especially after he began to open up to her, she only saw him as even more amazing.

Inspiring, even.

But her? Zelda was never amazing, not even in her research. The Sheikah may have praised her on occasion, but she always suspected her meager efforts were blown out of proportion by her status. A princess doing anything outside of her royal duties and not being completely terrible at it was definitely a feat, but not enough to be called amazing.

Link had called her amazing only once, after their trip to the Spring of Courage. The Children of Farosh may have celebrated him, but he was the one calling her dedication to praying in that lonely spring for hours and hours amazing.

It struck her then, just as it strikes her now.

She thinks, not for the first time, about how dearly she loves him.

She makes no effort to hide her smile when she turns to Link. “Well that makes two of us, doesn’t it?” she says, a lightness in her chest that not even Ganon could consume.

The smile he returns to her is utterly dazzling.

Part of Zelda wants to get closer to him, spurred to do something she hasn’t been spurred to do since the Calamity’s end. She used to daydream of this moment, of a world where it could be so easy to take those few steps forward and say a few short words that always seemed too powerful for her to voice.

She takes a step towards him -

-And is interrupted by a dim laser aimed directly at her chest. She notices a stray Guardian in the corner of the room still glowing a dim pink.

Oh, she is going to  _ obliterate _ that blasted machine.

Apparently Link has the same idea, because he takes off sprinting towards it, moving much faster than Zelda thought was humanly possible. He takes a running leap as it begins to gather energy for its beam and stabs it directly in its wretched eye.

He’s too far away for Zelda to tell for certain, but he seemed to use an awful lot more force than was necessary to take down a broken Guardian.

The thought makes her laugh, quelling her frustration for the time being.

With the Guardians in this area dispatched and their creeping sense of evil no longer ensnaring Zelda in their tendrils, she can better examine the area. A quick check of the Sheikah Slate reveals no details on the building. If she didn’t already know it was here, she would have bypassed it entirely.

For that matter, why had she never heard of it before now? A place this massive, having no record left? How is that possible?

How much of Hyrule is doomed to suffer the same fate?

“How did you find this place?” Zelda asks, stepping over a large crack in the ground and resting her hand against a raised platform. A defunct Guardian sits above her, a broken sentry to this lonely temple.

“Sheikah Slate. It sensed a shrine nearby, so I decided to look for it. I must have spent half a day on top of this temple walking in circles trying to find it. I didn’t realize it was under my feet this whole time.”

Zelda tries to summon a mental map of the area. “So is the top of the temple below the main path?”

“Yeah. Not too long of a climb, but still a climb.”

“And what about the bottom of the canyon?”

“No one goes down there anymore, and even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to get in. The main entrance is caved in.”

But both of them see the light filtering into the temple in the distance - there’s a way out, thankfully.

They slowly make their way to the end of the path, only for it to suddenly cut off, leaving them on the edge of a small cliff. A large updraft leads up to a hole towards the top of the wall. Zelda gets the feeling that more Guardians wait for them on the other side of that hole.

Link echoes her thoughts. “I defeated all the Guardians the last time I came here, but if they were all in this room, then they must also be in the other room. There’s a shine we can travel to nearby. Besides, the next section isn’t nearly as walkable.”

“But if we don’t defeat the Guardians, then who will?” Zelda asks.

Link gives her a blank stare. “Zelda. This place is called the Forgotten Temple for a reason. No one knows it exists.”

“They will one day,” she says, though she doesn’t add the thought that she may be the one to make it happen. She’ll remember this place for all of Hyrule, and she’ll find a way for future generations to learn of it.

Just because it’s forgotten now doesn’t mean it’ll be forgotten forever.

“Is the next area untraversable?” she asks.

“Not… exactly. It’ll be hard to get through without a paraglider or literally climbing the walls.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Zelda says. “You’re rather skilled at climbing walls, and I’ve used your paraglider before. We can make it work.”

Link does not wear reluctance well. “Are you sure? It’s dangerous.”

Zelda gestures to the broken Guardians scattered throughout. “We destroyed these so easily - why would the others be a threat?”

There’s a war going on in Link’s mind and part of it plays out on his face. He clearly wants to protest, but can’t come up with a suitable case for himself.

It takes a few moments of waiting, but eventually Link relents. “Fine.” He hands Zelda his paraglider. Before she’s able to leave, he sets his hand on her shoulder. “And one more thing.”

He unfastens the circlet on his head and deftly puts it on her. It’s a little snug, but not to the point of being uncomfortable. What Zelda is more worried about is trying to take it off later - she has the most awful feeling that it’ll get stuck in her hair.

“It doesn’t look like much, but it’s resistant to guardian beams. If you happen to get attacked and I’m not there to deflect the beam, this will help negate some of the damage.”

“Diamond is a powerful stone,” Zelda says. “Thank you.”

He flashes a smile at her before taking off, scaling the walls like the strange lizard Zelda is still partially convinced that he is.

As for her, she take a deep breath, holds the paraglider firmly in her hands, and takes a step off the edge.

 

*

 

Tabantha’s snows melt during summer, but with autumn comes chilly temperatures that make camping outside nearly unbearable. It’s still too early in the season for the snow to be built back up, but it’ll come soon. The region is famous for its unexpected blizzards.

It’s an easy decision to stay at the stable for the night. Zelda walks into the giant tent that makes up the main body of the inn with confidence that she does not have to worry about her reputation for tonight. Regardless of what Traysi decides to write, it can’t spread across the land in a single day.

There’s a man Link wants her to meet for some reason, but everyone save for the man standing at the counter is asleep for the night. Most of the beds are sectioned off by curtains and makeshift walls, creating a small illusion of privacy that’s passable only for tired travelers too exhausted to worry for themselves.

A century ago, every stable had a private room. Once word came around that the princess’s knight loved horses, the rooms became nicer.

This is one of the few stables to still have a private room, though its only intended for one person.

Link looks to Zelda, waiting for her to make the final call.

She nods, and the man hands her the key.

The room is smaller than she expected, barely big enough for a single bed, a small table, and two chairs. Connected to it is a small bathroom, though one with all the amenities she’s come to expect from a regular inn. A few candles sit on the table and she lights them, filling the room with a gentle glow.

Save for their stays in Zora’s Domain and Gerudo Town, they’ve shared the same space every night. Their camp is usually smaller than this room and they’ve slept side to side or curled around opposite ends of the fire for too many nights to count.

Why then, does this feel different?

They spend many moments together in silence, but this silence feels more awkward than anything they’ve shared in a long time. Zelda thinks back to the moment they shared earlier today, before they were rudely interrupted by rogue Guardians. He must have felt whatever she did. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t avoid her eyes so intensely as he shrugged out of his tunic.

They are so much older than the number they tell people, but in some ways they are still impossibly young.

She spent a long time in the past being confused about her own feelings and mistaking one thing for another, but she knows her mind better than anyone else.

Link is her dearest friend; that she has always known. But he is becoming something else, too, something that she felt before but never acted upon.

“I can sleep on the floor,” Link says. “I don’t mind.”

There’s those knightley impulses, rising back to the surface. She appreciates the thought, but he is no longer a knight. “We can share,” she says.

“Are you sure? It’s pretty small.”

She doesn’t trust the candlelight to show her nod, so she forces herself to speak. “I am.”

Once they’re both changed and ready to sleep, Zelda climbs into the bed and scoots to the edge. Link blows out the candles, submerging them in complete darkness, and she hears his footsteps stop next to the bed. Carefully, as if trying not to startle a wild horse he wants to tame, he slips in next to her.

It’s a tight fit, but they make it work.

She still doesn’t sleep well that night, but it’s better than most, and she figures that counts for something.

 

*

 

The next morning, they share a simple breakfast of eggs and rice with an older man. He has a kind face, but eyes that reflect a sadness that has shaken him to his core.

He introduces himself as Monkton, but Zelda is certain she’ll forget his name by the time they leave the stable.

He’s full of stories, most of which end in a way that pains Zelda’s heart. He remembers his childhood well, but it was a solemn one. He grew up in a small cabin that used to be near the stable until it was ransacked by monsters and destroyed. He’s helped out at the stable ever since.

Monkton doesn’t fully realize it, but Zelda recognizes the necklace he wears around his neck. He may not have been born there, but his family was definitely from Tabantha Village.

“I didn’t have many friends as a child, save for two. Harry and Mary,” he says with a wistful sigh. “Tell me, you seem like a friendly girl. You must have had many friends in your youth.”

Princesses aren’t afforded the luxury of friendship, not with the fate of the world weighing on their shoulders. She spent so much time with the Sheikah as a child, but the researchers have always been much older than her. Urbosa was always more of a mother than a friend.

And peers? She wasn’t even allowed to interact with the aristocratic children of Castle Town; they didn’t have the same duties she attended to.

The Champions were her friends, but save for Urbosa, she didn’t interact with them until she was on the cusp of adulthood. However, a face does spring to mind - her very first friend.

She met him when she was fourteen, on a windy afternoon that she spent buried deep in a book about the last princess to harness the power of the Divine Beasts to help seal away Ganon. Somewhere in the distance, someone plucked a harp, creating the melody of a song whose name she felt like she should have known, but didn’t.

She went to investigate, and found the source to be a Sheikah boy her own age.

He introduced himself as Vane, the newest court poet and the lone Sheikah. He taught her how to play the harp, their lessons tucked away in empty storage rooms and hidden underneath the castle walls where her father couldn’t hear.

He was one of the most brilliant musicians that she had ever met.

She thinks briefly of his student, the one that is now Link’s friend, and wonders if the similarities between the master and his student end with their musical talent.

But then she remembers that Monkton is still waiting her answer. “No,” she says. “I didn’t have friends for many years.”

He nods sagely, and sensing that she doesn’t want to speak any further about herself, offers to tell her another story.

This one, as Zelda is horrified to learn, is about how he lost his best friends. They were simple childhood mistakes - one went too far into darkness, and the other lost her footing at the edge of what must have been the temple Link and Zelda came from the day before -  but they led to deadly consequences.

“Those memories will haunt me to my dying day,” he says. “But as I grew older, I learned to overcome that grief. You can’t change the past, but the future? Now  _ that, _ you can change.”

Zelda thinks of the regrets that still plague her nightmares. All her feelings of failure, of letting down her kingdom, of lacking the strength to prevent the Calamity in the first place.

That wound isn’t as fresh as it once was, now scarred over and rough with her own forgiveness.

She can’t save those who have already died, or restore the villages and the cultures lost to the Calamity.

But she can move forward and honor them.

She understands why Link wanted her to meet him now.

“That’s why I keep a careful eye on Harry and Mary’s descendants. Their ancestors may have suffered, but I can make sure that this tragedy won’t happen again,” Monkton continues.

Zelda nods. Shouldn’t she do the same for Hyrule now - to care for the survivors and give them the best future she can?

But then a thought doesn’t settle right with her. If Monkton’s friends died when he was a child, how could they be children, too?

The answer comes in a rather unexpected fashion.

“Their descendants are actually in the nearby stall. If you want, I can let you meet them. You might need to bring a few apples to win them over, though.”

 

*

 

Horses.

This kingdom is obsessed with horses.

 

*

 

Rito Village still consists of a number of huts connected by a staircase, spiralling up around a large pillar. Their houses have more than a passing resemblance to birdcages, though there are a few wooden slats designed to keep the structure intact. If a Rito so desired, they could leap out of any part of their home and soar off into the distance.

The Rito have never used doors, instead electing to draw curtains shut when they desire privacy. Even the village elder’s home is no different.

His name is Kaneli, and he is ancient for a Rito. At thirty-two years old, Zelda thinks he must be one of the longest-lived Rito in all of history.

When she tells him as such, he hoots a low, warbling laugh. “Perhaps I am! My people are much like the wind - here one moment, and gone the next! The Zora find it distasteful, but I think it makes life that much sweeter while it lasts. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Would she?

To start and end so soon, having had so few chances to experience the world? Technically, she’s only half his age, and yet she has several lifetimes of wisdom over Kaneli.

“I’m not so sure,” Zelda says as politely as she can. “Living long enough to see history change before your eyes can be rather exciting.”

He hums in the way that leaders often do, when they disagree with something but don’t want to voice it directly. It’s one of the subtler points of politics, and one that Zelda has not missed at all.

Thankfully, he changes the topic - a political move that Zelda is more comfortable with. “The skies have been clear for the past few months, since Vah Medoh slumbers above us. I assume both of these things have to do with your appearance.”

He doesn’t see Link has the same Champion from a century prior; she wonders if he views her in the same way. “Yes. With the help of the Champions’ spirits, Link and I were able to seal away Calamity Ganon. The spirits have since departed, leaving the Divine Beasts in need of new pilots.”

She thinks briefly of Revali. Did he depart peacefully? She’s a little surprised that he didn’t announce his goodbye.

Maybe her ability to talk to spirits left before he did, but whatever the reason, all she hears now is silence.

Wherever he is, is he at peace? Has he finally found the contentment that constantly evaded him in life?

In the end, was it enough for him?

“I’m certain that one of our Rito warriors will be up to the task,” Kaneli says. “I have faith in their abilities.”

“What about Teba?” Link asks.

“He has skill, but he’s a little headstrong. You may find him difficult to work with,” Kaneli says. “But if the Champion descendant believes in Teba, then I’d recommend you give him a chance, princess. From what I know, he spends his days with his son at the Flight Range, but he’ll return tonight. You can find him then.”

 

*

 

This generation of Rito celebrate autumn. The winds are strongest this time of year, making it easier for them to take flight. Hebra mountains are not yet drenched in heavy snowfall, allowing them to travel with ease. 

They’re also a musical generation, and much more inclined to sing than Zelda remembers. There are five Rito children, each a different color of the rainbow, who run throughout the village, sharing songs about the land they live on.

“They’re Kass’s daughters,” Link tells Zelda as the girls run by. There’s no central location for everyone to meet, so smaller groups sit in different houses. They sit across from Saki, a pink Rito with a gentle aura, and two Rito sisters.

“They’re amazing singers,” Zelda says as their voices fade into the songs of the other houses.

It’s interesting. They don’t sing of how things came to be, or of the history of famous Rito. Instead, they sing mostly of the land and its beauty. They sing about the leaves changing color, the moon rising in the sky, and of how the heart of their village stands proudly over the land below. Things that every generation can see for themselves.

It’s so different from the Gerudo, the Zora, and even from herself.

History doesn’t hold the Rito in its clutches.

Curious, Zelda looks to the Rito and ask, “What do you know of Revali?”

Saki’s eyes light up with recognition, but the Rito sisters (whose names Zelda promptly forgot after being told) exchange confused looks. “You mean those fairy tales Elder Kaneli likes to go on about?” one of them asks.

“Everyone knows those are children’s fables,” the other one says, dismissive. “How could there be a Rito who could create his own updraft and soar away? It’s nonsense.”

“No, it’s true. I saw him do it once. It was amazing,” Zelda says, picturing Revali forcing himself higher and higher into the air. Even when he failed, he would attempt it again, until his feathers were battered out of place and he could barely keep himself on his feet.

Was it really that worth it, to drag himself to death’s doorstep just so he could be remembered?

The Rito sisters give Zelda matching skeptical looks. “ _ You _ ? Meet someone who supposedly lived a century ago?” one says.

“I don’t know how long Hylians are supposed to live, but you barely look like an adult,” the other adds.

“She’s telling the truth,” Link says, ever ready to rush to Zelda’s defense.

However, Saki is the one who ends up saving Zelda’s credibility. “I believe her,” she says, her voice impossibly gentle. “Teba idolizes Revali, and he trusts Link with his life. If Link believes her, then so do I.”

The sisters still don’t look entirely convinced, but at the very least, they drop the matter.

 

*

 

Zelda ends up meeting Teba at the Flight Range, despite what Kaneli said about waiting. 

She remembers this place well. The targets are brighter now, the updrafts more concentrated and the rock walls even higher than they were when Revali claimed this place as his own.

He never liked to talk of his past, save for when he had something to brag about. He bragged about the Flight Range to no end, boasting to Zelda and Link about how he carved each target out himself. It was far from pretty, but the fact that Revali made so much of it with his own hands was a feat in itself.

Yet every trace of him has been scrubbed from here. Nothing of him seems to remain.

_ Do you miss your family? _ Zelda had once asked during her imprisonment, during a time that must have been just a few years before Link woke up.

_ Every day _ , Mipha had whispered.

_ They’re strong enough to get on without me _ , Daruk had said.

_ My little bird, I lost the person dearest to me long before the Calamity _ , Urbosa had replied.

Revali was silent; he must not have responded for days.

Finally, he answered her question, his ghostly voice nothing more than a gust of wind.  _ They never deserved to be missed. _

She had spent so long wondering what that meant, but he never elaborated. To this day, so much of him remains a mystery.

One that will never be solved.

Teba accepts Zelda’s proposition without hesitation. He, like many Rito, wears his pride with ease. He is confident in his own strength, and is eager to pass that strength onto his wide-eyed son.

Unlike many Rito, he believes in Revali.

Vah Medoh, like the other Divine Beasts, is empty. After some prodding on Tulin’s part, Zelda agrees to let him tag along as she shows Teba its massive interiors. Link, for all his efforts, makes a good babysitter, able to distract Tulin as Zelda explains Vah Medoh’s mechanics to the Rito Warrior.

“Do you think I’ll be as skilled of a pilot as Master Revali once was?” he asks, looking up at its main control hub. From where they stand, it certainly looks intimidating - like a puzzle impossible to solve.

If anything at all could bring a smile to Revali’s face, it would be that question.

Likewise, it brings a smile to Zelda’s. “He wouldn’t be happy for me to say this, but I believe there’s a chance.”

They eat lunch on Vah Medoh’s back, consisting of wild hearty salmon fillets carefully laid over a bed of seed from a grain that only grows in high climates. It’s a traditional Rito meal from what Zelda understands, generally only eaten for special occasions. The seeds are too difficult to harvest to eat daily.

She wonders if Saki made it, and if so, how long it took her. A quick glance at Link’s blissed-out face as he eats almost causes her to giggle, but she manages to hold it back and not embarrass the both of them in front of Teba and Tulin.

Even if she doesn’t talk to Saki, she knows Link will want her recipe and will eagerly ask for it the moment he sees her again. She could tag along.

Tulin practically inhales his food and hops to his feet, puffing his chest out proudly. “It’s extra-good, right!?”

“It’s delicious,” Zelda says, as Link nods emphatically besides her.

“That’s cause I helped Mama make it!” he announces.

“Well, you did an excellent job,” Zelda says fondly.

Rito age much faster than the other races to better account for their short lifespan. Tulin can’t be any older than three years, but he’s at about the same developmental stage an eight-year-old Hylian would be. She hears his youth so clearly when he asks her, “Hey, hey! Do you know why Vah Medoh is called that? Why Medoh? Why not something cooler?”

This is a story Zelda knows well - and one that she is glad to tell. Link and Teba both look at her curiously. Naturally they wouldn’t know the tale either.

She clears her throat. “Vah Medoh is named after an ancient sage, one that helped the Hero of Winds.”

_ And the pirate-turned-princess, _ Zelda supplies for herself.

“She lived in an age before Rito grew wings of their own and served as the attendant to the guardian deity that watched over her people. It was the second most important role for her people, only behind the chieftain’s - although I would argue that her role was even more integral to her people’s survival than the chieftain’s guidance.”

Tulin and Teba both listen quietly, clearly enthralled by her story.

“Not only that, but she served as the Sage of Earth, allowing the Master Sword to regain its full power and slay the evil that threatened their land. Her dedication to her people and to Hyrule as a whole is what inspired the creators of Vah Medoh to name it in her honor - that it could live up to her legacy and continue to protect her people and their land.”

“That’s…” Tulin takes a deep breath, “ _ So cool _ !”

“Her name was Medli,” Zelda adds.

“Medli,” Teba repeats. “I’m glad her name lives on.”

Somehow, that makes Zelda think of Revali. After Teba is gone, what Rito will remember his name? Will Tulin, or will he dismiss it as another nonsense fable that elders tell to get fledglings to pay attention to them?

The Rito don’t write their records down, and their songs don’t focus on the heroes of old.

What then, will keep his memory alive?

Zelda can’t remember him for all his people.

She looks down at the land below and recognizes the gentle glow of the shrine from the Warbler’s Nest. She quickly checks her Sheikah Slate for the shrine’s name: Akh Va’quot.

She knows nothing of the Sheikah who created that particular shrine, save for their name. Their spirit has long since departed the world, but their legacy lives on.

For as long as this device exists, for as long as people know their name, their legacy lives on.

Zelda gets an idea.

 

*

 

Debating the matter with Kaneli takes up almost all of Zelda’s free time. Combined with her days spent training Teba to be Vah Medoh’s new pilot, Zelda ends each day utterly exhausted.

Link, Goddess bless his soul, tries his best to alleviate her burden in whatever way he can. He makes her amazing dinners and even updates a few entries in the Hyrule Compendium on her behalf.

Every morning, he braids the Snowquill Headdress into her hair and makes her fresh elixirs to help resist the cold so she won’t freeze while on Vah Medoh. The rubies keep her warm, but so does the memory of his hands resting against her collarbones.

Eventually, she gets what she’s fought so hard for.

Kaneli officially re-names the Flight Range, complete with a ceremony that all of Rito Village attends. The adult Rito sisters may roll their eyes, but seeing Teba’s eyes bright with the fire of admiration makes everything worth it.

She snaps a picture of the Sheikah Slate to remember the occasion, of the new signpost that marks the training area.

The Flight Range becomes Revali’s Range.

Revali tried so hard to prove himself, to make himself useful in a world cold enough to make him fight to his dying breath for recognition.

She hopes that this is enough. Even in this land that is so quick to let the past be wiped away by the winds, she hopes that this will endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The romantic tension thickens. Cue dramatic music.


	7. Outskirt Stable (feels like home)

_ Travelers sit around a cooking pot just in front of Outskirt Stable. Their faces are illuminated by the flames, but the sparks come from the laughter evident in their eyes. A woman passes a plate of food to the young man sitting next to her. Zelda is the only one looking at the camera, her smiling face present in the bottom corner of the picture. She’s using self-portrait mode. _

_ It’s a small moment, but one utterly full of life. _

 

*

 

The Colosseum ruins stand like a tyrant on top of a hill. A quick look at the Sheikah Slate’s impression of it reveals that the destruction that had claimed much better buildings had somehow avoided tearing it down.

Why did the worst relic of the past have to survive?

Link catches Zelda looking at the screen. She doesn’t realize how deep her frown is until she catches him mirroring her. “It’s always full of monsters,” he says. “There’s nothing worth checking out, unless we really need more Moblin guts.”

The last thing they need is more Moblin guts.

“Then at least one thing has remained the same over the past century. That place continues to be an awful waste of space.”

Link breathes out his version of a chuckle and pulls his horse closer to hers. There’s a ghost of a grin on his face. “What, was it full of stuffy aristocrats or something?”

“Yes! Foolish nobles and their foolish families would pay a ridiculously large sum of rupees to watch some poor child from a nearby village throw their life away attempting to slay a monster that even the royal guard would struggle to kill! And when they weren’t fighting monsters, they were fighting innocent animals and leaving their carcasses to rot in the sun! It was barbaric and pointless.” Even the memory of it makes her blood boil.

“I’ve done that before,” Link says. “Some rich guy in Tarrey Town asked me to take out a few Guardians. It wasn’t worth it in the end.” He pauses, a strange tilt to his mouth. “He should have paid me more.”

There was that unfamiliar name again - Tarrey Town. She’ll ask him about it later - for now, she files the information away and goes back to her previous tirade. If he didn’t remember how much he hated the Colosseum too, then she’d have to re-teach him of its crimes. “Yes, but you had a choice in that. No one’s livelihood rested on you killing that Guardian for that man’s amusement. These people - who were often little more than children, mind you - didn’t have a choice when they fought in the Colosseum. They could fight, or they could let their family starve.”

She visited the Colosseum a few times as a child, back when her mother was alive. Her mother hated it too. As a child Zelda never understood why she always agreed to go, but years of hindsight have given her a probable theory. Even if the matches were awful, her mother was never more at peace than during the half-day trip it took to get there.

Her mother once said it was the only time they could ever simply be a family. Nothing more, and nothing less.

Her father loved the Colosseum. He thought the matches were the epitome of sportsmanship. Zelda’s constant, emphatic disagreements became another point of contention between them over the years - her desire to eradicate it was pitted directly against his admiration of what he saw as the height of culture.

Zelda never saw it as anything but a celebration of slaughter and inequality.

He would be heartbroken if he knew of the idea she was entertaining, but she pushes that thought away. Even long after his spirit has passed on, she’ll continue to disappoint him.

She’s still trying to make peace with that notion.

“What if we were to destroy it?” Zelda asks.

Link stops, looking more baffled than she’s ever seen him. “You want to  _ destroy _ it!?”

“Perhaps.” After a moment, she adds, “I wasn’t really expecting you to respond.”

Would it be so bad to turn that place to rubble? Nothing has changed in a century besides the appearances of the monsters that haunt it; they used to look more human before.

Besides, why should a celebration of murder and destruction be allowed to stand when the homes of so many innocent people have been reduced to rubble and rotting foundations?

She thinks of Dewa Village, of Zonai Ridge, and of Tabantha Village, which she and Link passed through on the way to Rito Village. All three of those places were once someone’s home, and now they’re nothing but another stop for the few Hylians brave enough to hunt for what they consider to be treasure

Those places deserve to be remembered, to have their stories told and their histories chronicled.

The Colosseum only deserves to serve as a cautionary tale, and it doesn’t have to lord itself over the rest of the land to do so.

“Actually, I’ve decided - I  _ do _ want to destroy it.”

 

*

 

A chill settles over Zelda when they hide their horses by the entrance, not entirely dissimilar to what she felt at the Forgotten Temple. The short hairs on her arms stand at attention, quivering in the gooseflesh that erupts across her skin. There’s a distinct chill in the air, one carries the promise of a winter eager to arrive, but cold temperatures have never made her feel nauseous the way that she feels now.

The horses are as tranquil as they dig up clumps of browned grass, and while Link moves with caution, she can tell it’s only because they’re so close to a Lynel.

“When you visited, was there any Malice here?”

Link nods. “This part of the path used to be blocked off,” he whispers. “Now keep your voice down. I don’t want the Lynel to hear us.”

He has a point - they need to focus on sneaking up on the Lynel, but Lynels are far from her mind now. Instead, she thinks of the Malice that hasn’t been here for months.

Even now, she can still feel the remnants Ganon scattered across the land - across  _ her _ land. Will she ever be able to cross a place once tainted by Malice and feel at ease?

What about Hyrule Castle - will she ever be able to step foot in it without seeing it as a prison?

Some small part of her whispers no. This is a scar she’ll have to carry.

Rather than spend most of the day fighting the Lynel that prowls the Colosseum grounds, Link notches an ancient arrow in his bow and sends it flying towards it, making it disappear in a swirl of electric blue light.

As if it never even existed in the first place.

Together, they make quick work of the remaining monsters. Zelda, not as willing or as able to scale the walls like Link, fires arrows from the ground and takes down the monsters on the lower levels. Link, who changed into his Sheikah armor impossibly quickly, sneaks around the upper levels and and finishes most of them off with one strike.

A century ago, Zelda wouldn’t have even imagined taking down anything more than a couple of the most basic Bokoblins by herself.

While it takes a little while now, with enough patience and smarts, she can even take down a silver Moblin. Which she does, multiple times.

“With any luck, this will be the last bloodshed this place ever sees,” Zelda says when Link returns to her side. She digs into their supplies and, after a little bit of searching, finds exactly what she was looking for: a handful of bomb arrows.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Link asks, hovering at her side. She gives him a conciliatory, if somewhat distracted, pat on the shoulder.

Maybe her act of vandalism is childish. It’s certainly rash, an idea formed out of an anger left to simmer in the back of her mind for most of her life. Maybe it is an affront to everything else that has wounded her soul, another piece of history desecrated and left to fade into nothing.

Maybe this should be a place to mourn, not to destroy.

Or maybe not.

“This place doesn’t deserve to stay standing,” Zelda says, a finality in her voice that she hopes Link with catch on to. His eyes harden and he nods, accepting her decision.

To him, this place isn’t a beacon of history. It’s just another pile of stone that monsters hide behind.

He won’t miss it, and neither will the rest of Hyrule.

They take the horses far away, both to avoid any stray rubble and so they don’t get too spooked by the noise they’re sure to cause. Zelda takes one of Link’s bows - a savage Lynel’s bow, not just for the irony but also because it can fire five arrows at once - and notches a bomb arrow in place.

Slowly, she circles the outside of the Colosseum’s perimeter and fires arrows into the stone. It bucks in with a low, cracking groan and a fiery explosion. Link keeps his shield lifted, ready to deflect any stray rubble from her at a moment’s notice.

It comes in handy a few times, but mostly, the walls fall in on themselves. Even after a century of disuse, the foundation is still sturdy, making her job harder than she wishes it was. It takes the better part of the afternoon to tear down the Colosseum, but by the time the sun hangs on the horizon, Zelda and Link stand in front of a pile of rubble.

She opens up the Sheikah Slate, and renames this location.

Colosseum Rubble.

The ancient Sheikah technology is still too complex for her to fully grasp, but the updated picture on the screen reflecting their recent efforts feels like a blessing. She guesses it has something to do with the blue tower standing sentinel in the distance, its gentle glow a sharp contrast to the light behind it.

“And we’re done,” Zelda announces, fitting the Sheikah Slate back into its holster, the weight a welcome familiarity against her hip. “Shall we go?”

Link nods.

They leave the rubble behind. For once, Zelda isn’t sad about it.

She isn’t sad at all.

 

*

 

“We have two beds left, which is lucky for the two of you. Big storm’s coming, if Toffa’s aching knees are any indication. Be dangerous to travel these next few days,” the stable master says as he gestures to the young woman who leads Link and Zelda’s horses away. He hasn’t looked at them once. “You want the beds then?”

Link and Zelda exchange glances. Neither them are any stranger to traveling in horrible weather, but their next stop is Hyrule Castle. Even the thought of it makes Zelda’s stomach twist uncomfortably, her mind desperate to float away and ignore the world for the next few hours.

“We’ll take them,” Zelda says.

The man finally looks up at the sound of her voice and his eyes widen, shock evident on every part of his face. His eyes linger specifically on her hair, something that more than a few travelers had done before. He then glances briefly at Link and something close to realization settles over him.

“You’re that girl from the newest Rumor Mill article. The one related to the royal family!” he says, and though he doesn’t mean it to be, it feels like an accusation. “Long wheat hair, green eyes, traveling with Link.”

He clearly doesn’t know how to treat royalty. Her father and his advisors would balk at the flippant tone this man uses and probably throw him in the stockade for a week or so on loose grounds of treason.

While in Rito Village, Zelda did not have to think about her own lineage. Like the other races, the Rito have only ever had a cursory respect for the Hylian crown. The reporter and whatever she decided to write about Zelda was far from her mind, not bothering to rush back until now.

She did think, in the dead of night when sleep evaded her yet again, about how that article could be the foundation for the wall that royalty loved to hide behind. Supported (and sometimes goaded) by the aristocracy, the crown always erected itself a pedestal to sit upon, an arbitrary line created to reinforce the idea that a family name somehow increased the value of the lives attached to it.

Certainly, there is value in her life. But it does not come from the throne; it comes from the blood of the Goddess that runs through her body.

But this man? Even if he sees the foundation, he steps over it the same way she would a stray branch in the woods: without much care at all.

She remembers, not for the first time, that this generation is not one that knows what it’s like to have a crown presiding over them.

“What did it say?” Link asks. There’s a threat in his voice, presented the same way a street performer might point their knife tricks towards the police officer on their way to apprehend them. If one wasn’t used to the tells, they wouldn’t see it.

But Zelda knows most of his quirks - all of the old and many of the new - and she hears his words for what they are.

“Something about how the princess supposedly trapped in Hyrule Castle is not only real, but survived whatever was trapped in that castle with her. When that demon - or whatever it was, I don’t really know - left, so did she. Actually…”

He disappears from the counter just long enough to grab a journal from a nearby table, causing the old man at the table to grumble out a complaint. He returns, eyes fixed to the page in front of him. “It says here that you’re the same exact princess, but I don’t really believe that. How old are you, twenty?”

Technically, she’s one hundred and eighteen, but what she tells him isn’t entirely inaccurate either. “I’m seventeen.”

“See, that doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t you be ancient?”

Zelda sees two options laid out in front of her, jumbled together like messy stacks of paper spilling over a table.

She could deny it, in whatever form that denial may take. She could say that Traysi was mistaken, that the article is based off a few words incorrectly interpreted.

Or she could accept it, accept her place in this strange world where there are no walls to separate her from the rest of the world.

“Being trapped in Hyrule Castle didn’t quite work the way you may imagine,” she says, a strange sense of peace settling over her as her words hang in the air. The man looks at her, eyes nearly bulging out of his head and his jaw dropped wide open.

Link’s reaction at her side is a more subtle variant, but it brings a smile to her face.

“Now, could you please direct us to our beds?” she asks, smiling as sweetly as she can manage.

 

*

 

As Zelda unpacks, she feels eyes on her back. They aren’t malicious - nothing like the eyes of Malice that populated Hyrule Castle for a century.

These eyes are innocent, tracking her with nothing more than a simple curiosity.

Link prowls at her side like a wolf, his things dumped at the side of his bed in favor for standing by hers with a sharp glint in his eye that Zelda finds completely unnecessary.

He’s been more protective of her recently, more receptive to her perceived needs than he was when they first reunited. He’s always been considerate, but this is a heightened level. Not quite to the level of her knight, but definitely more intense than any friend has the right to be.

Rather than dwell on the implications of that idea, Zelda softly tells him, “I’ll manage fine on my own, you know. No Yiga are here to assassinate me.”

“I know,” Link says, and Goddess bless his soul for not getting immediately defensive. “I just don’t want them all to swarm you. You don’t like crowds much, right?”

“There’s hardly enough people here to qualify as a crowd.”

“It’s a small space, though.”

Their conversation is interrupted when someone is brave - or perhaps foolish - enough to approach them. Zelda doesn’t recognize the man at all, but he walks with a gait that tells of the respect he is accustomed to receiving. He looks down at Zelda from eyes heavily lined with black - an unusual look for anyone who isn’t a Gerudo.

Link relaxes. How odd.

“You were the one that he needed to go to, weren’t you?” the man asks. “He had someplace to be, and wherever that was, you were waiting there for him.”

Zelda simply stares at this strange man, who is utterly unfazed by her embarrassing gawking. There’s so many ways she could respond to him - so many things to unpack in those two sentences.

Instead, she asks, “Who are you?”

He hums a single note, but the musical lilt carries into his voice as he responds. “I’m Bolson, designer and head of the Bolson Construction Company, responsible for the creation of Tarrey Town. However, I’m on a sabbatical right now, so I’ll have to postpone any construction requests you may have for me.”

Sometime during his small speech, a second man approaches, one that looks much younger than Bolson. He greets Link warmly, clasping their hands together and patting his back in the same way Zelda imagines a brother might have.

The strangest thing is that she actually  _ does _ recognize his name. “You restored Link’s house,” she says.

“Ah, yes. One of my finest works,” he sighs wistfully, warmth in his voice. “That boy would have only had weapon mounts in that house if it wasn’t for me.”

The explains the decorations. With a smile, Zelda introduces herself. “My name is Zelda. I’m-”

_ The princess of Hyrule? The subject of Traysi’s article, which I’m certain you’ve also read by now? The one who sealed away a monster so vile that it ruined your life before it even began? _

_ A girl still looking to find her place in this land? _

“-I’m a fan of your work,” she finishes.

Bolson doesn’t seem to be the type to beam at people, but the slight smirk he gives feels like sunlight on her back. “You have a good eye,” he says, and leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Especially if the stud you travel with is as thoroughly wrapped around your finger as I think he is.”

Very few things can make Zelda blush, but at that comment, she feels her face grow hot.

Bolson pats her on the shoulder, a silent apology for embarrassing her in the first place. At this point, Link and the other man are paying attention to her again, and she sees concern flash in Link’s face when he makes eye contact with her.

“She’s fine,” Bolson answers for her, waving him off. “Karson! Have you introduced yourself to our new friend yet? She’s a very important person, you know.”

Karson sticks his hand out towards Zelda, all sharp movements and youthful vigor. “Name’s Karson! Nice to meet you.”

“Zelda,” she says, taking his hand.

“Found that spouse yet, Bolson?” Link asks, moving to sit down besides Zelda.

Bolson groans, but coming from him, even that sounds vaguely musical. “This isn’t a short conversation, Link. Let’s at least get some food first.”

This stable is different than the others that Zelda’s visited, as Karson and Link return within a few minutes with steaming bowls of soup that Zelda too quickly for them to have made it themselves. Zelda peeks past the foot of her bed and sees a few people gathered around a large cooking pot, sharing laughter in a way that suggests that this is a common occurrence.

Everyone in this stable has congregated into small groups, similar to the one she finds herself in now. That comes with the added benefit of there being less eyes on her now.

Apparently, Bolson is traveling the land in search of a spouse, because, “Goddess knows all the men in Hateno are either already married, only interested in women, or Karson.”

“The boss was gonna go by himself, but after my girlfriend broke up with me, I figured I should go out and see the world. Visit Hudson too, see how him and his family are doing,” Karson adds, apparently unfazed that he received his own category within Bolson’s list.

“He has the most beautiful newborn daughter,” Bolson adds sagely. “And the best part? Her name is Madison.”

Link chuckles at that - a full-fledged chuckle!

Bolson and Karson have traveled extensively over the eastern and central provinces of Hyrule - many of the places that, ironically enough, Zelda and Link are on their way to see. Bolson’s tales tend to be structured around architecture (and Zelda makes a mental note to tell that pun to Link later - he’d love it), but Zelda still finds herself captivated by what he shares.

He’s a wise man, something that comes across the most clearly in how readily he accepts his own lack of knowledge. He praises the beauty of Akkala Citadel, but laments the lost techniques that originally built those structures.

“As much as I love my own style - and surely you’ve seen the houses in Hateno I designed - there’s something to learn from those old techniques. As much as I’d love to study them, there’s simply no way for me to do so,” Bolson says with a sigh.

Zelda thinks back to the castle library and the extensive section on architecture. She even remembers seeing a book specifically about the architecture of Akkala’s most integral buildings.

Buildings that don’t really exist anymore, but if the records do, then they’re not entirely lost.

“We’re going to Hyrule Castle soon,” Zelda says. “One of my goals is to recover as many old texts as I can, and I remember there being a book specifically about that within the library. I could bring it to you, provided it wasn’t ravaged by monsters.”

_ Or weathered, or mangled by Ganon, or really affected in any way _ , Zelda mentally adds.

Bolson’s eyes light up as she speaks, and when she finishes, he sets aside his food and grabs Zelda’s hands. “Oh, you are simply a delight! That would be amazing if you could do that.” He lets go of Zelda’s hands and snaps his head over to Karson. “Karson!”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Go find your dictionary, because we may have a lot of reading to do soon!”

“Yeah!”

Karson bolts off, presumably to go do exactly what Bolson essentially ordered him to do.

Not for the first time that night, and certainly not for the last, Zelda bursts into laughter.

 

*

 

Emboldened by her conversation with Bolson and Karson the night before, Zelda decides to introduce herself to more of the stable-goers. Given the fierce storm raging outside and the constant drumbeat of rain battering the top of the stable, there isn’t much else to do besides update the Compendium and get to know the other people here.

Few people are awake this early in the morning, save for herself, Link, the stable master, and two women sitting by the cooking pot. It’s perched right at the edge of the stable, allowing the smoke and steam to escape into the air outside. They’ve set up a small barrier of waterproof cloth between themselves and the storm outside, and given how dry the two women look, it appears to be working fairly well.

One woman looks to be a little older than Zelda’s age, blinking the smoke away with perpetually sleepy eyes and clad in a light pink dress. The other woman is significantly older than her, and carries a matronly air about her - some small voice in Zelda’s mind poses the theory that she was the one who cooked last night’s dinner.

Link noticeably takes the seat next to the older woman, but before Zelda can shoot him a confused look, the younger woman addresses her. “So, you’re the princess everyone’s been talking about? You got the wheat hair and you’re traveling with this bigshot,” she says, pointing to Link, “so I figure I’m right.”

The frank way she speaks manages to offset the discomfort in hearing Zelda’s title. “I’m Zelda,” she says simply. “Nice to meet you both,” she says, making sure to glance over at the older woman.

“Don’t mind Aliza,” the older woman says, “Read too many romance novels as a little girl and used up every ounce of optimism she ever had. I’m Myti, by the way. Pleased to meet you.” Despite Myti’s harsh-sounding words, the way Aliza does nothing but roll her eyes puts Zelda at ease. They must have known each other for many years, if they’re this comfortable around one another.

“You’re pretty, though. Pretty like I always thought princesses were supposed to be,” Aliza says, nodding to herself. Zelda supposes that she just passed her inspection, whatever that was supposed to consist of. “Nothing at all like Mr. Hero over there.”

“I really don’t understand why you give that poor boy so much grief,” Myti says as she gives Link her own form of grief, burying him under a pile of used eggshells and bones and quietly telling him to brave the storm to dispose of it. As he staggers away, poorly attempting to balance everything in his arms, she snatches a bone off the top of his pile and tosses it to the dog sleeping underneath the nearby table.

“He’s just…” Aliza makes a frustrated gesture, “He’s nothing like I thought a hero would be! Sorry to be disappointed.”

Zelda laughs under her breath, but not quietly enough as to escape the attention of the two women. Their look at her, eyebrows raised in mirror images of each other, clearly waiting for an explanation.

“My apologies. He traveled with me a hundred years ago before the Calamity, and the way you treat him now is vastly different from what it used to be.”

Link was never quite behind the wall of aristocracy like she was. If anything, he was the guard at the lookout post, serving as both the bridge and the gate between her and the rest of the world.

People - aristocracy and villagers alike - respected him. It was born from a mixture of fear and awe, the combination potent enough that almost every Hylian they encountered referred to him as some variation of ‘sir knight.’

He could still interact with them, but no one aside from the most bull-headed of the noble class or the captain of the royal guard himself would boss Link around the way Myti and Aliza did without so much as a blink.

Link probably doesn’t remember that facet of his old life at all, but if he did, he’d be grateful for the shift.

“Is there a specific way we’re supposed to treat him?” Aliza asks. “And what about you, for that matter? What do princesses do anyways, besides get rescued and fall in love?”

“Aliza!” Myti scolds.

Zelda shakes her head. “It’s fine. I’m still trying to figure out that answer for myself. They don’t tell you what happens after the hero slays the monster.”

_ But each day, I feel myself getting closer to the answer. _

Stables don’t generally serve meals to their guests, but with Calamity Ganon sealed away, the roads are apparently busier than anyone can remember them ever being. This brings more trade, and the stable master discovered that he can charge a higher price per bed if breakfast is included the following day.

And in this weather, no one but Link is willing to go outside. Everyone here is contributing food, and provided Myti gets a few hands to help her out, she doesn’t mind cooking.

This morning, Zelda and Aliza provide those hands. Understandably, it takes much longer to finish cooking breakfast had it only been Link and Zelda, but the fresh omelettes stuffed with meat and mushrooms are delicious.

They cover the biggest table in the stable in plates, and as people slowly get up for the day, they quietly take a plate and go back to their own business. At some point, Link returns to Zelda’s side, and at another point shortly after that Aliza looks Zelda in the eyes and declares, “You’re a good princess. I like you.”

The irony that this girl probably has no idea what makes a princess good or bad is not lost on Zelda, but she accepts the compliment anyways. “I’m glad I passed, then.”

“Oh! I just remembered - Zelda, make sure to introduce yourself to Toffa. He’d love to meet you.”

At that name, Link perks up, eyes bright as he nods vigorously. “He was the one who told me where to find Dia,” he explains. “He was so excited to see Dia. But meeting you?”

“Careful. The sheer excitement might kill him,” Aliza mutters.

Toffa, as Zelda discovers, is an old man, with a serious face offset by eyebrows permanently arched at a ninety degree angle. He doesn’t quite die when Zelda thanks him for telling Link about where to find the descendant of her beloved horse, but he comes close.

“If he does anything to upset you,” Toffa says, pointing at Link, “use that amazing horse of yours to trample him into the ground. You’re too good for any kind of disrespect.”

Zelda laughs.

Link makes a strangled noise somewhere in the back of his throat, wide-eyed and thoroughly embarrassed.

He calms down after a little while, and even leaves Zelda’s side when a merchant carrying a pack three times his size stumbles into the stable. The other stable-goers are a little more hesitant to meet Zelda without Link at her side, but she makes do.

There’s Trott, a young man obsessed with meat he considers gourmet. He nearly cries from sheer envy when Zelda mentions the coyote meat she ate in Gerudo Town, and the sheer guilt from the experience leads Zelda to promise to save him some coyote next time she goes into the desert.

There’s Zyle, a shifty man who seems to always be caught halfway in a lie, and Canni, a stable-hand who is probably the most knowledgeable person when it comes to horses in all of Hyrule. Strangely enough, she keeps Zyle in line, quick to praise his honesty and even quicker to berate the lies that slip out of his mouth like snakes through the grass.

There’s the stable master, whose name is Embry. Despite the bad first impression, he’s actually a decent man - hardworking and a kind of father-figure to everyone at the stable.

There’s also Haite, a little girl made of pure energy. She bears a distinct resemblance to Myti, but who her father is (or whether she even has a father) remains a mystery to Zelda that she doesn’t feel any pressing need to solve.

The little girl spends most of her time jumping on her own small bed, playing fetch with the stable dog using the bone her mother gave it that morning, and asking Zelda any and every question that pops into her mind.

“So what’s the difference between a princess and a queen?” she asks as she leaps onto her bed, thoroughly mussing its covers.

Zelda, sitting in a chair she dragged over from the common area’s table, thinks. “Well, princesses become queens when they marry.”

“What if they never marry? Are they always a princess? And can princesses rule? Because in the stories, princesses never rule, just kings and queens.”

It’s a simplistic understanding of royal politics, but a true one. A queen could retain her title upon her husband’s death, but princesses never became queens until they married. They could grow up and become duchesses or countesses or baronesses, but without that ring, they could never be queen.

Though, Zelda wonders if that had to be the case now. If she wanted to be queen, she could be, regardless of her marital status. There was no one alive left to enforce those old rules, and the only people old enough to remember those old customs certainly didn’t care enough to do so.

“Actually, I think things are different now,” Zelda says. “A princess can be whatever she wants to be.”

“And what do you wanna be?”

Zelda stops, searching for an answer appropriate to give to a child.

“I’m not quite sure yet, but when I figure it out, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

“Promise?” the little girl asks, sticking her pinky finger out.

Zelda takes it. “Promise.”

 

*

 

Having spoken to every inhabitant of the stable save for the merchant currently trying to dry the last of his wares, Zelda sits on her bed and dedicates the time she has before dinner to updating the Hyrule Compendium. There’s so much information on it, pieces of data and entries that she’s certain Link had no idea existed when he used it, and she works to make sure that everything is up to date.

She’s finishing up revising the entry on Hylian Retrievers when she hears footsteps stop at the edge of her bed. She looks up to see Link, hands behind his back in a poor attempt to hide something from her.

He’s too quick for her to be able to spring off her bed and grab whatever he’s trying to hide, so she settles on using her words. “Yes?”

“I have something for you,” he says, pointedly ignoring her gaze. He isn’t blushing, but there’s something in his expression that makes her wonder if anyone else in his situation would.

“Oh?”

He reveals what he was hiding behind his back - a thick journal, with a pen attached to the front cover. Zelda looks it over and flips it open, only to reveal a series of completely empty pages.

“It’s a journal and a pen enchanted to never run out of ink,” Link explains, scratching the back of his head. “You know so much about Hyrule. I figured you might want to start writing down our history, so you don’t have to keep it to yourself all the time.”

“I already write, though. In the Compendium.”

Link looks even more embarrassed than before, a nervous twist to his mouth that makes Zelda’s heart sink somewhere deep into her stomach. “Yeah, but that’s different. Those are short articles. You deserve to write about whatever you want, not just whatever some Sheikah decided was important eons ago.”

He addresses all of this to the floor, hands clenched at his sides and shoulders hunched together like a child being scolded.

He wants her to be happy so badly; every part of his body sings that to her. She breaks into a smile, the one that he’s best at summoning, and gently touches his arm. “I love it. Thank you.”

It takes a moment of obvious hesitation before Link’s eyes dart to look at her, perhaps to confirm if her words are genuine. Whatever he sees must assure him, because the tension melts out of his body, leaving someone much freer in his wake. He returns her smile and offers her something smaller and gentler in exchange.

She does not have to hold onto Hyrule’s history by herself.

She will chronicle it for the world to read, so that even the cultures that have been lost to time will no longer have to be forgotten. The past will live on in her words, and she’ll make sure that no Calamity will ever rob her people of that again.

And hopefully, she can do it all with him at her side.

 

*

 

“I hope you realize that he’s in love with you,” Bolson murmurs to Zelda, sometime during the second night of her stay.

They sit on the floor in front of Bolson’s bed, watching as Link helps Myti wrangle her rambunctious daughter into brushing her teeth. He moves with such dedication, giving a mission as thanklessly minor as this the same importance that he did saving all of Hyrule.

“How can you tell?” Zelda asks, not because she doubts Bolson, but because she wonders if it’s really that obvious.

“Honey,” Bolson says, apparently offended by the very notion of her needing to ask, “how could I not? He could climb to the top of this stable and scream it to Hylia Herself and it wouldn’t be any less subtle than what he does now.”

He must sense Zelda’s disbelief, because he quickly continues speaking.

“He used to be your knight, right? Well, I haven’t met too many in my life, but I don’t think they’re supposed to watch their charges with the same hopelessly endeared look he always gives you. He may think he’s being subtle, but nothing can slip past the ex-head of Bolson Construction Company. Not to mention the whole gift event earlier - and yes, I saw him fight with Beedle over getting the best journal that man had ever sold, just as I saw how he looked ready to run out into that awful storm and never come back if you didn’t like his gift.”

Bolson smiles and looks off into the distance, giving Zelda the distinct impression of something sad and beautiful. “When I see the way he treats you, I want to believe in the power of love again. That true love exists, and that there’s nothing stronger than it out there.”

Zelda hugs her legs to her chest and settles her chin on top of her knees. She knows that sometimes love simply isn’t enough.

But sometimes, it is.

“There’s no one in this world I care about more than him,” Zelda says.

“Then you should tell him that,” Bolson replies. “There’s power in your words.”

But when Link catches her watching and offers her just a flash of a smile before a pair of small hands begin to pummel his legs and distract him again, she thinks that there isn’t a need to tell him.

He already knows.

 

*

 

The skies clear sometime during the third day of their stay, but no one makes any moves to leave. Sure, there’s talk of packing and polite questions as to where people intend to go next, but no one actually leaves.

By the time late afternoon arrives, the sun casting orange rays over the land, not a single person has left.

Zelda is the one to suggest it, after listening to Canni and Embry the stable master tell Zelda stories of what the stable was like when they were kids. Never in their lives has the stable been as lively as it was these past few days.

“Let’s have one last meal together,” Zelda says. “It’ll be a proper sendoff for us all.”

“After these past few days, I’m not sure if we have enough food to feed everyone…” Embry says with a frown.

“Link and I can gather food,” Zelda says, completely at peace with volunteering Link for the task. He won’t mind.

“I’ll help, too!” Canni says. “The horses are all taken care of, so I’m free until their nighttime feed. Oooh, I’ll get Aliza and Zyle to help, too!”

Plans for a meal are made and ingredients are gathered throughout the course of the afternoon. Myti starts cooking right before the sun dips below the horizon, and before long the smell of grilled meat and fresh herbs fills the entire stable.

The air should be chilly, but the fire and the residual body heat keeps Zelda warm.

When the food finishes cooking, everyone squeezes themselves around the recently relocated cooking pot just outside the stable. There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, leaving the merchant to sit on his massive backpack, Haite to sit in her mother’s lap, and Link balanced precariously on a rock he hauled in from outside. Everyone fits, but just barely, tucked in shoulder to shoulder.

Paired with steaming mugs of milk, the food is utterly delicious. Zelda takes out the Sheikah Slate, flips it into self-portrait mode, and takes a picture of her strange, new family.

Princess or not, she is welcome here.

Conversation and laughter flows as freely as a river flows downstream, filling Zelda with a sense of peace that has eluded her for most of her live. This is an entirely new situation, one that could have never happened a century ago. Stables were just that - places to keep a horse, perhaps even to sleep a overnight if the weather was particularly bad.

Now, they still serve those functions, but they’re so much more. They’re centers for travel and trade, the bedrocks of a new kind of community.

In this place, she realizes, the foundation of tomorrow’s Hyrule lives.


	8. Hyrule Castle (door, wide open)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone brought up the fact that Zelda doesn't canonically retain her powers in the post-game, which is fair. So I added mostly canon compliant to the tags - for the most part, I've tried to keep the worldbuilding from directly contradicting canon, but I like the idea of Zelda keeping her powers for three reasons. The first is that she worked SO HARD to get them, so even if she grew weak while keeping Ganon in his evil bubble for a century, it doesn't feel fair to me to just take them away. The second is that I like it as a sort of proof of who she is, since it shows her connection to Hylia. The third is that I like badass Zelda and badass glowy light powers. 
> 
> (Which is also why Zelda has a sword, for more cool fight scenes.)
> 
> In other news, I'm almost done with the actual writing of this fic! I'm at the tail end of chapter 11, and I for one am fairly proud of myself for writing 85k+ in a little over three months. It helped that for two of those months I was unemployed, but those are the small details. It'll end at about 90k overall, give or take a few thousand words.
> 
> ...Man, this is literally a Legend of Zelda novel. Somewhere out there, my three year old self is crying tears of pride.

_ Pillars jut up around what used to be Hyrule’s capital like fingers on a skeletal hand, keeping the broken-down castle in its grasp. In broad daylight, the gray soot that marks where Castle Town once stood stands out sharply against the rolling green hills all around. Guardian remains lay across the ground, twisted corpses sprawled throughout the rubble like demonic flowers breaking through stone. Standing above it all is Hyrule Castle - large, desolate, lonely. _

_ A monument to an age put to rest. _

 

*

 

Hyrule Castle can be seen from almost everywhere in the land. 

Even when Zelda isn’t looking directly at it, it looms over her, a subtle reminder of everything she’s ever suffered. Ganon is no more, at least not in this land, but its presence was so heavy within those walls that everything about the place she once called home is now stained.

Like tar baked into the walls, it never seems to wash out.

Zelda hasn’t set foot in the castle since - well, since she confronted Ganon a century prior.

But now she stands so close to the ruins of Castle Town that she can see them. See the walls, dilapidated and shattered in more places than they remain intact, see the skeletons of its main buildings, and see the broken Guardians, still serving their vigil over the place they destroyed. 

She wants to turn away and never look at this place again.

But there are important documents within the castle walls and she will not let such important information rot away any longer.  She’s avoided this confrontation for long enough.

They leave their horses at the ruins of the Sacred Grounds, allowing them to graze and use the trees as shelter from the chilly winds. Autumn is slipping between her fingers, leaving breaths of wind that whisper promises of winter. 

Not yet, but soon.

Zelda walks through the grounds, Link at her side, and marvels how vastly her feelings have changed. She still remembers when he first became her knight. The ceremony they had for him was so completely unnecessary.

She remembers him, kneeling at her feet, refusing to look at anything but the stony ground, and her, standing rigidly above him in that stuffy dress she always had to wear for formal occasions.

She hated him, then. Hated how easy everything was for him, and how the promise of his presence felt like the end of what little freedom she had managed to scrounge out of the dirt for herself.

Now, he walks at her side, and she’s in a sacred location in a pair of leggings and a tunic she chooses to wear.

The Sacred Grounds were, for as long as she could remember, a place solely reserved for pomp and ceremony. The Goddesses are all honored here, each of the original triad represented in their piece of the Triforce, as well as a winged creature so ancient its name has been lost to time.

She looks over to Link’s shield and sees that creature’s silhouette in the middle, holding the design together. Something about it feels comforting. Hylia, or maybe the princess She first gave Her Blood to create, must have loved it.

She wonders if a Link from eons past loved it, too.

Aside from that, Zelda does not feel a need to mourn this place. No one ever lived at the Sacred Grounds, as the only people who ever cared about it all lived within the castle’s walls. A quick glance around reveals that the same kinds of animals that called this place home a century prior - sparrows, herons, rabbits, the rare deer - still call it home today.

She will write about it, but she does not particularly miss it.

Would her father have?

...Would her mother?

She isn’t sure.

Those thoughts accompany her to the start of Castle Town. The once shining gates are now permanently rusted open, welcoming only the most foolhardy of adventurers.

Ganon may be gone, but she can still feel its presence, crawling across her skin like spiders.  They walk through the gates and immediately Zelda is hit with a wave of nausea. There is no Malice in sight, but her legs refuse to move when she tries. It feels as if she’s been trapped in a pool of sludge. 

The last time she stormed through those gates, it was with her head held high and her duty singing in her heart. She had one last thing to do, just one final attempt she had to make before giving in. She refused her feelings then, banishing her fear and grief somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind.

She had to confront Ganon. The sword had whispered it to her, promising her that it was the only option to keep Ganon from completely consuming the land. It could heal in time, as could Link.

And it knew, the same way it must have known Link was the chosen hero of this era, that he would return for them both.

It was her sole comfort, but one large enough to propel her forward. She could not allow herself to see the bloodshed - all she could do is fill Castle Town with Hylia’s Light and decimate any Guardians foolish enough to remain in Her presence.

She didn’t see a single survivor during her walk through the town. Perhaps some of them were able to escape.

Thinking of the alternative is simply too painful.

For a moment, she thinks back to the Seventh Sage, the princess that watched her own kingdom fall from within. Even across the eons that separate their lives, Zelda understands her pain. 

“There are still Guardians here,” Link says, the Master Sword clenched within his hand, the blue glow of its blade casting him in a light entirely separate from the afternoon sun. “There were too many for me to destroy all of them last time I was here.”

Zelda looks at him, forcing herself not to focus on the ruins of the town’s most famous bakery just behind him. “They won’t be an issue,” she says.

Link nods, but she can tell that worry still clings to him. “Just be careful. Many of these are still able to move.”

“Noted.”

When Link starts to move, prowling like a wolf on the hunt, she somehow finds the strength to follow him. Her mind tries to drift away, desperately wanting to rest amongst the countless memories she has of this town, but she tethers it in place. She cannot lose focus here, nor can she lose control like she did in Dewa Village.

She feels this place’s pain as her own, but she cannot let it immobilize her. Still, her grief bubbles in her throat and her hands tingle, aching to let her memories flow out like ink onto a page. She could fill entire journals with her memories of Castle Town. When they’re done, maybe she will.

“What was this place like before the Calamity?” Link asks, picking his way over the rubble of a bridge. He heads straight for the central square, but Zelda lightly tugs his tunic and directs him towards the east. He accepts her request silently, probably able to tell how desperate she is to delay their entry into the castle for a little longer.

“It was  _ amazing _ . Always so full of life, bustling with activity at every part of the day. There were problems, yes - too many petty criminals, and the nobles who lived in the western district tended to whine whenever they felt like their money didn’t speak loudly enough for them, but it was my home.”

It was definitely more of a home than that blasted castle ever was.

“How many people lived here?” Link asks, ducking inside a small house and kicking his foot under the withered remains of a spare table. Zelda barely notices the movement, being so used to Link’s constant search for hidden Koroks.

“All together, including the people who lived within the castle? One-thousand.”

It was a momentous occasion when their population finally hit one-thousand. Zelda had just turned fourteen, Her father, urged by his advisors, called for a festival that lasted an entire week. It was one of the best weeks of her life, and coincidentally the longest break she ever received from her training. Maybe it was the fireworks that sparkled in the sky the first night of the festival, or the way her father smiled more honestly than he had since her mother’s death, but something led him to tell her that she deserved to celebrate as well.

So she did. She played the harp in the central square, harmonizing with Vane and the other court poet’s instruments as the town’s children danced around them. They spun circles and clapped and stomped their feet to the beat of a song Zelda had never heard in full until then.

She bought slices of pie and loaves of bread from the baker, and while she kept a few pieces for herself, she went to the cathedral and gave most of it away to the people there.

During those blessed seven days, she did not kneel at Hylia’s feet once. Somehow, with her hand on the pulse of Castle Town’s life, she felt Her presence more clearly than ever before.

“I’d be amazed if Hyrule’s population is even half of that now,” Link says. “And that’s counting every race.”

“And what about only Hylians?” Zelda asks, preparing herself for the blow his answer will bring.

“Maybe two-hundred.” 

She suspected as much, but it doesn’t dull the pain. 

Nothing remains of the watchtower, save for part of the bottom wall that used to hold the guard’s weapons when they weren’t on duty. What used to hold weapons arranged in a neat row is nothing but rusted pieces of metal left in broken crescents and a lone, tattered flag abandoned on the ground. 

“Occasionally, people would try to smuggle goods into Castle Town,” Zelda explains. “Particularly from the east, as the paths were easier to take and Hylia River was possible to cross with enough patience and a big enough raft. This watchtower was designed to keep them from climbing the walls.”

On the west was the quarry and the prison, and no one was foolish enough to try crossing there. 

A Guardian is foolish enough to set its glowing eye directly on Zelda, but with the power that hums in her fingertips, it breaks down almost instantly. She steps over the spare parts that fall out of it, but waits for Link to snatch up its core before continuing on.

Guardian beams obliterate everything they touch, reducing even the thickest of bones to dust.  Did the aristocrats realize that no amount of money could protect them from death trampling down their door? That at the end of the day, the finery they draped themselves in looked exactly the same as a peasant’s dress underneath the red light of a Guardian’s sight?

She’ll never know the answer.

Bones are rare to find, having been worn down by time, but she finds far fewer than she had originally expected. It is a small comfort to think that Castle Town is simply a ghost town and not a graveyard.

The Cathedral, once the pride and joy of the eastern district, has been reduced to stone beneath her feet and the corner of a wall that barely goes up to her waist. There was a Goddess Statue here once upon a time, about the size of the statues that stand over the springs of the Triad, but there is no longer any trace of Hylia’s presence.

_ Hylia, how was I able to stay here for so long and you weren’t? _

Zelda sends that silent prayer to the skies, feeling entirely too much like a child with questions too big and too difficult for their parents to answer.

“What was this place like a century ago?” Link asks.

She turns to him, takes in the way he wears slight curiosity so well, and she finds the answer to her own question.

She may have the blood of the Goddess, but she is not a goddess herself. Her humanity outweighs any claim to divinity she may have, and that humanity is what keeps her anchored to this world.

To him.

Was it the same for the first Zelda?

But Link expects an answer, and so she tells him. “Worshipping Hylia or any of the other Goddesses was never an organized thing. People came and went as they pleased, for the most part - I’ll have you know I was a notable exception to that rule, given my personal training,” she says, stopping where Hylia’s statue once stood. She examines the ground and finds a slightly raised patch of stone - Her lone remains. “They always gave to the poor. Beggars could come in and know that they’d receive a warm meal here. The aristocracy hated it,” she says with the ghost of a laugh in her voice. 

“But you loved it,” Link says.

“I did.”

And now it’s gone. 

A few months ago, that thought would have brought Zelda to her knees. It pierces her heart, even now, but she remains standing.

Though the stench of Malice remains, Zelda remains standing and Ganon is gone.

 

*

 

Zelda walks through what remains of Castle Town the way the soldiers used to while on patrol. Head up, shoulders back, hand hovering over a weapon like a whispered threat. Unlike the soldiers, Link prowls at her side.

Funny, how the princess turned deadly and the soldier turned feral.

“We’ve never been very good at our roles, have we,” Zelda says. “I’m not much of a princess these days, and you’re not much of a knight.”

“It’s better this way,” Link says, the words escaping him as easily as comment about the weather would. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to say that with the same freedom as him.

She agrees, deep in her soul. But before she can say so, Link surprises her with a question.

“Do you think it was worth it?”

Link stops at the central square, standing underneath it’s fountain. Three birds, three symbols of the Hylian royal crest given form, one for each Goddess in the Triad, create the centerpiece. They used to spout water from the tips of their wings, back in the days before this fountain was a desert and this town housed ghosts. That bird, whatever species its supposed to be, has been the symbol of Hyrule’s royal family for as long as Hyrule has had a royal family.

Was it worth it?

Was this empty town worth their freedom?

“No, but we must accept it anyways.”

If protecting Hyrule from this desecration meant living her life in a gilded cage, then Zelda would bind her wings and stay grounded forever.

But that isn’t what happened, and so she must accept what she has now.

Link is silent, considering her response with the same gravity he’s always given to their serious conversations.

She wonders if his answer is the same, but she doesn’t ask. She knows better than to make him carry that burden.

They make their way over to the western district. The homes, one so grand and imposing, and the courtyards that once decorated themm are indistinguishable from their eastern counterparts. A Guardian tries to stand on broken, twisted legs when it senses them, but Zelda’s engulfed it in light before it can so much as target them.

She did this the last time she was here, too, enveloped in a golden shield that decimated any Guardian that locked her in its sights. They poured out of the pillars that, to this day, jut towards Hyrule Castle. Those machines-turned-monsters fell upon Castle Town like dandelions caught by the wind. 

Only when their feet touched the ground and their gentle blue glow turned a sickening pink did they become deadly.

There’s nothing original to note here, nothing to distinguish it from its western counterpart. Not anymore.

Zelda leaves Castle Town with a prayer.

_ Hylia, please. Let their souls have found rest. _

 

*

 

Fitting, that the castle gates are firmly locked in place. Zelda throws them open with the Magnesis rune, letting Link’s comment about how he did the same thing when he came here wash over her.

Better than the alternative - his voice is honey compared to the reek of Ganon that assaults her the moment the doors fly open.

Hyrule Castle was once beautiful. Even Zelda, in all of her childish rebellion, could see that. Beautiful trees, dotted with lively green leaves and gentle pink flowers, marked the pathway leading up to the sanctum. Birds rested in their branches, harmonizing with each other to make a melody reflecting life itself.

There were animals in Castle Town - foxes hunting birds and mice scurrying between the broken buildings - but there is no life here, save for the monsters that Ganon wrenched out of death’s grasp time and time again.

Ganon made sure of that.

A strange wave of nausea hits Zelda as she steps forward. She knows this castle like she knows herself, its corridors like the veins criss-crossing in her own hands, and despite the lack of bubbling Malice here, Ganon’s presence is still unmistakable. It didn’t need pink slop to mark the castle as its own, not with her trapped inside of that fleshy husk she made the both of them suffer in.

Their energies, dark and light, pink and yellow, stayed confined primarily to that space. But as Her light, Hylia’s Grace, rode the wind and nestled itself in the flora and fauna of Hyrule, Ganon’s tendrils snaked deep beneath the land and tried to choke her out, time after time.

Zelda's task here is simple: go to the library, find whatever salvageable books she can, and take them. The royal artifacts, the treasury, the ceremonial armor crafted during a time when the king was both a diplomat and a warrior - none of that holds weight any more.

But those words and those stories? They matter.

Zelda continues to move forward, moving despite the tremble in her legs. There are less Guardians here, but a few stray sentries turn their cold eyes on Link. He fires off a few ancient arrows before returning to her side, supporting her unsteady gait with his own strength.

“We can turn back,” Link says. “We can get the books some other time.”

Zelda shakes her head, an eerie feeling settling over the nausea already churning in her gut. If she doesn’t get this now, she knows she’ll never return. “We have to.”

She pushes away from him, not enough to be cold, but just enough to stand on her own feet. Her legs feel weak and her mind is hazy with a dark fog, but she somehow finds the strength to keep walking.

Link used to know every part of the castle, but the way he peeks into every corridor he sees as if expecting the proper way to the library to just jump out at him reminds her that those memories are gone, too. It’s for the best, she surmises. His only memory of this place is of one that occurred just outside her study, when her father told her to quit playing at being a scholar.

He knew she loved scholarly work, as did everyone she ever met. While her father was gifted with jewels and portraits of his land, she was gifted with tomes on life outside her lonely walls. The servants knew that no book was too mundane or too obtuse to escape her eager hands.

She read as many as she could, staying up far past her bedtime, the words illuminated by candlelight. She’d regret it in the morning when her eyelids grew heavy during her morning devotions, but never once did she stop the pattern.

Why then, did he insist on taking away the one thing that gave her joy?

Even with a century to dwell on possible answers, she hasn’t found one.

Zelda leads the way, leading Link through a broken door that gives them direct access to the hallway. The pathway is simple: a left at the torches, up the stairs, and through the double doors into the library.

What she doesn’t expect is how quickly darkness descends over her the moment she steps within the castle walls.

Her mind succumbs to the dark haze, and she falls.

 

*

 

When Zelda comes to, its slowly, as if emerging from a deep slumber. She opens only one eye at first, her vision blurring at the edges. Even that’s enough to see -

-A wing? She forces her other eye open and squints, confirming her initial thought. She sees a dark-colored wing, the color desaturated from under her eyelashes but perhaps some kind of blue.

Her mind produces a thought through the haze: she had a bird like that, once upon a time. A grand creature, one she loved so dearly that it was an extension of herself.

They’d fly through the skies, freedom at her feet as she stood upon its back, her laughter echoed in its trilling calls.

Even when she took to the ground, it stayed by her side, loyal to their last shared breath.

_ These aren’t my memories. _

Zelda’s eyes fly open and she scrambles to her feet, fighting off the sway that threatens to send her tumbling back to the ground. Her chest heaving with sudden effort, her fear clears the fog from her mind and she takes in her surroundings.

The first thing she notices is Link’s shout of alarm and his hand on her shoulder, trying to beckon her to sit back down. She shakes him off.

The second thing she notices are a pair of dark wings, belonging to the Rito man that watches her with an unreadable look. She tenses, but her hand does not go for a weapon. He may be strange, but even in her panic, she trusts Link enough to know that he would have fought off this Rito if he posed any threat.

“Ah. It seems that you’re finally awake,” he comments. In his hands is a large accordion, fingers poised over the keys on its edges as if ready to resume playing at any moment.

“This is Kass,” Link says. “He’s helped me a lot.”

Vane’s student.

Once she realizes who he is, she sees traces of Vane all within him. He is distinctly a Rito, but the cadence in his voice, the way his fingers hold his instrument - all of it points back to Vane. The Rito in front of her is like a finished work of clay, one forever imbued with his artist’s fingerprints. 

“I take it that you’re the princess herself? The same one my teacher wrote about so long ago?” Kass asks.

“Just call me Zelda,” she says, and adds after a moment, “Vane was a good friend of mine.”

His eyes light up at the mention of his teacher’s name, and although Zelda slowly sinks back to the ground, her body too weak from stress to support her for much longer, he comes closer and drops to a sitting position across from her.

Link, clearly at a loss as to what to do, slowly sinks to the ground as well, crossing his legs in front of him and looking between the two of them expectantly.

“You’re just like his songs described,” Kass says, wonder in his voice. Zelda wonders if Paya would have sounded like this upon their first meeting, had she possessed a little more courage. “I - I never thought I would be able to meet you, honestly. I always settled for simply knowing you through his songs.”

She had never heard any songs he wrote specifically for her - did he write them after the Calamity?

A small part of her is amazed that they would be positive enough to leave his student in awe of her, considering how distant she grew from him as she grew older. It was never his fault, feelings or not. Destiny is a heavy burden to bear, one that only Link was able to shoulder alongside her.

But behind him looms Hyrule Castle, and just the sight sends a tremor through her body. She must go back there, but she cannot.

She doesn’t want to, but has she ever had a choice when it came to that castle? To her heritage?

She gets to her feet, but this time, Link forces her back down. “You need to rest,” he says, and she can hear the command laced with iron within. He won’t let her go without a fight, and she knows without a doubt that she isn’t strong enough to win. “The castle isn’t going anywhere.”

“But-”

“-But it’s almost nightfall, and we can make camp here,” he says, already grabbing some wood and a piece of flint from their shared supplies. “Kass, will you stay?”

“Our paths always lead us to the most interesting coincidences, traveler,” Kass says with a small smile. “I wanted to write a song about the princess. This place has a beautiful view of the castle, so I thought it was a perfect vantage point. What I didn’t expect was to see the princess herself here.”

They’re out in the fields of Hyrule - resting on a small hill. Despite the numerous villages that were once scattered throughout this area, Zelda notices a distinct lack of ruins nearby, and knows that at least that event isn’t a coincidence.

“Is that a yes?” Link asks.

Kass chuckles, the sound a cross between a whistle and a bird’s trill. Rito laughter has always amazed Zelda, and his is no different. “Yes.”

Zelda’s head is clear, but her participation in their conversation is weak at best. Her mind keeps returning to whatever vision she had upon waking - except it wasn’t a vision. The impressions felt too sincere to be anything but a memory.

A message from Hylia, perhaps? 

Or a memory snatched from one of her ancestors, a Zelda of another era, and given to her?

_ What are you trying to tell me? _

Kass is lively, to say the least. He sings more than he speaks, preferring to let the countless songs he has memorized do the talking for him. He values history in a way that no other Rito she’s ever met does, which probably explains why he spends his days traveling as a bard rather than at home in his village.

He has five daughters, and Zelda instantly thinks of the little Rito that flew through the village, singing their joy for everyone to hear. She sees the familial resemblance.

It makes her think of her own father. What resemblance has she ever shared with him? They hardly looked alike, not his imposing figure compared to her lithe frame. Aside from their shared love of Hyrule and of her mother, there was little for them to bond over.

He used to tell her legends when she was little, keeping her occupied as her mother went through her devotions.

She remembers one of a land almost as old as time itself, of the woman, born from Hylia Herself, who fell from the skies and eventually formed the first Hyrule.

She tries to picture her father’s face as he told that story, green eyes crinkled at the edges with mirth as he sat at her bedside, and while the image is crisp in her mind’s eye, it pierces through her in a way she cannot handle.

She banishes the thought.

 

*

 

That night, she dreams.

The pictures are fuzzy and muddled, as if pulled from somewhere far away and unable to make the journey intact.

She sees a beautiful, gigantic bird, with intelligent eyes and a soul that resonates with her very own.

She feels the air rush past her as she hops off the ledge of a land high above the clouds, trusting for the other half of her soul to catch her before she falls.

She smells soap and the dust from bird feathers as a man envelops her in a hug, one that she happily returns. She does not know who he is, but she loves him dearly.

She hears the laughter of a boy she has loved all her life as he plucks the strings of a harp, fingers eager to imitate the movements she had previously instructed him on. He plays a familiar song that fills her with a gentle glow, extending from the points of her ears to the tips of her toes.

The song stays with Zelda even when she wakes to see Kass with a harp in his hands, gently plucking at its strings. The song isn’t the same as the one she heard in her dream, the key a little too high and the notes a little too drawn out, but Zelda recognizes it all the same.

“What’s that song called?” Zelda asks, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she pushes herself into a sitting position. From somewhere nearby, she can hear the sizzle of a cooking pot underscored by the tuneless humming Link always does whenever he cooks. Without her bidding, the picture brings a smile to her face, though she hides it behind a fake yawn before Kass can notice.

Thankfully, her plan works. “I’m not sure, to be honest,” Kass admits. “It’s an ancient song, and unfortunately its title has been lost to time.” He plucks a few more notes of the song and frowns at the harp, as if it had kept precious information from him. “It sounds like it should have lyrics, doesn’t it?”

Zelda doesn’t know enough about music to answer, but Kass seems to brighten at something and he hands Zelda the harp. “Princess! Do you know how to play?”

She hasn’t touched a harp in well over a century, but she’s heard that the muscle memory never fully fades. She experiments with plucking a few strings, and although she’s rusty, the knowledge comes flooding back to her. “Vane taught me when we were children,” she says. “I’m a little surprised I still remember. And please, just Zelda is fine.”

Kass is utterly  _ delighted. _ “As expected of my teacher! Do you remember any songs? We could play one together. ”

Zelda falters. She plucks a note and tries to think of the song Kass just played, but it slips through her fingers like sand.

“I’m not sure, I’m sorry.”

 

*

 

They try entering the castle again. Kass joins them, willing to accept the possible danger in exchange for an even greater inspiration. He does not see the castle as Zelda does, or even as Link does - for Kass, he treats it like something out of a legend.

Which, Zelda supposes, it is.

The doors are still open from her efforts yesterday, but they are far from beckoning her inside. She wants nothing more than to leave, but she must do this.

She walks in, one shaking step at a time. Link is at her side, so close that their shoulders brush whenever they move, stepping in tandem. If Kass notices her weakness, he is polite enough not to comment, choosing instead to look all around him. His head never stops moving, swiveling back and forth as if desperate to take in every moment and immortalize it.

Maybe he is; that’s what makes him different from the other Rito, after all.

Ganon is gone, and Zelda knows this. She watched Hylia’s power wrap around its glowing form and constrict it to almost nothing, felt it leaving her body with every pull and thrash of Ganon as it strained against Her. She watched the light constrict itself into a tiny ball and float away, off to another world far from this one, sealed away for another age.

Ganon is not dead, but it is gone.

Despite that, she feels Ganon in every broken branch, every cracked stone, every piece of the path she walks upon that has crumbled to dust.

Even if this castle was her home before, it is not anymore.

They make it to the library without Zelda passing out. The air is thick in her lungs, heavy and foul-tasting whenever she takes a breath. Her hand now hovers over the Sheikah Slate, constantly poised to take her to the nearest shrine and away from this wretched place. The air is no longer a hazy pink, dotted with black soot and Malice, but its what she sees when she blinks.

The carpet, once a lush crimson so soft that as a child she would toe off her shoes just to walk on barefoot, is now threadbare, squelching with mildew and possibly unsavory liquids Zelda would rather not think of. Monsters make their home here now, patrolling the corridors in a mockery of the soldiers that used to do the same.

Kass stays back, but Link takes them out easily. Zelda fires a few arrows and drops the remains of a chandelier on a Lizalfos’s head, but most of her shots miss and she doesn’t trust herself enough for close-range combat when like this. Her strength is sapped away with each additional minute she spends here.

But the books, oh, the books! There are so many, from the floor to the ceiling, just rows and rows of colorful tomes stacked against each other. 

Zelda is unable to contain her excitement. Renewed by the slight taste of victory, she hurries over and pulls a book out of its shelf. By any other means it’d be a boring text, given the way the title blandly describes the habits of the common Hylian sparrow, but Zelda eagerly flips it open.

The pages turn to dust in her hands.

Not every page disappears, but enough do to render the book useless. The words on the remaining pages have been distorted and frayed by oppressive magic. Zelda flings it to the ground and grabs another book at random from the shelf, only for the same thing to happen.

She tries again.

And again.

And the books keep melting away in her hands.

“No, no, no,” she mutters to herself, watching in horror as a book bigger than her head fades away before her own eyes. All that knowledge, all those records - they can’t be gone forever. They simply can’t.

A book of legends, titled  _ The Goddess Made Flesh _ in a looping golden script, remains complete, but the words have been so worn and distorted that its impossible to read.

That’s what does it. Zelda can’t stay strong any longer, not when there’s nothing to be strong for.

Ganon isn’t here but Ganon got what it wanted. It consumed and destroyed and hit her where it hurt most deeply.

She surrenders to the haze, and lets herself fall.

 

*

 

Zelda comes to in the same location as before - on a hill overlooking the castle, but this time, Link’s face is the first thing she sees. His eyebrows meet in a sharp crease in between his eyes, which only tell her a story of concern and worry. He helps her sit up when he sees her hand plant itself on the ground and relocates himself to her side, arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. Somewhere in the distance she sees the outline of Kass’s back as he faces the castle.

She thinks back to what happened there, of the books crumbling to nothing in her hands, and she wants to scream.

She isn’t a child, though, so she doesn’t. 

“Ganon took it from me. All of our lore, our research, our history - that  _ pig demon _ left the books intact but destroyed the pages,” she spits.

“Not everything,” Link says, voice gentle like a slow-moving stream, or a baby rabbit seeing the sun for the first time. He leaves her just long enough to dig through his things and produce a journal. He hands it over without a word, and once she sees the title, she understands why.

It’s her father’s journal.

“It’s legible,” he says. “The entire thing.”

She believes him, but she cannot bring herself to open it. Not this. She knows what he must have thought of her - as a failure until the end - and she cannot see it confirmed in his writing.

She looks at the title again, at her father’s name etched out in his elegant handwriting. She hasn’t seen it in a century, but she’d know it anywhere.

Part of her wants to cry, to let her grief seep out underneath her eyelashes and stain the land the same way her heart feels stained. She let him down and couldn’t save their kingdom in time, but he let her down, too. He denied her a childhood, forced her to waste her adolescence away from what she loved most to pray to a Goddess that respects love, not cold diligence.

All that, and she still misses him dearly.

“His journal was left in a secret room in the library,” Link explains. “And if this survived, I’m certain other books did too. Maybe not everything, but something’s better than nothing.”

“I can’t go back there,” Zelda says miserably.

“You don’t have to. Let me.”

“But you don’t care about these books,” Zelda says. “Even when they were all intact, most of those texts were incredibly dull and mundane. The ones that survived probably more so.”

Link breathes out a chuckle. “That’s true. I might not care, but you do.”

_ And I care about you. _ It goes unsaid, but Zelda hears it all the same.

“Okay,” Zelda says, setting her father’s journal next to her. “If you’re truly willing to go back there and hunt for any intact books, I’d be forever in your debt.”

Link’s eyes glitter with amusement and he offers her a small smile. Something about the gesture feels intensely private, and something about it tells her that she’ll reflect on it for days afterward with a smile of her own. “A simple thank you is enough.”

“Then thank you.”

As Link prepares to leave, he catches Kass’s attention. “Returning to the castle, I presume?”

Link nods. “I’ll be back tonight.”

Kass briefly shoots a glance at Zelda, who makes no move to get up. He approaches her and brings out his harp. He sets it gently on the ground next to her father’s journal. With a small smile, he says, “I think I’ll accompany Link this time, but I’d like to leave this with you. You can play it if you’d like.”

Zelda takes the harp, cradling it with a delicacy she gives few other things. She hasn’t touched its strings, and yet they seem to vibrate in place, silently asking her to play a song.

She offers Kass a smile. “Thank you.”

They both leave, Kass and Link, leaving Zelda to watch over the camp. Link must have set up a small shelter before she woke up, as it stands off to the side. A few fruits sit in front of it, along with a piece of roasted meat. The horses graze nearby, the picture of utter serenity.

It takes longer than she would have hoped, but she forces herself to her feet and tucks her father’s journal away into her bags. Even enchanted with Korok magic to hold an impossibly large number of things, she tends to keep it on Dia than herself, but this time she takes the bag off of her horse’s flank and brings it with her to the shelter.

It’s all she has left of her father; she can’t let anything happen to it now, even if she can’t bring herself to look at it.

Instead, she sits back down and takes the harp. Plucking a few notes and finding them to hang sweetly in the air, Zelda begins to play.

 

*

 

She must have fallen asleep without realizing it, because the next thing Zelda knows, she’s in a place she doesn’t recognize. A small voice in the back of her mind, rather than filling her with panic, assures her that she’s only dreaming.

She stands on the outcropping of a statue of Hylia, one nearly as big - if not bigger - as the one she saw in the Forgotten Temple. Her design is slightly different than the statues Zelda grew up praying at. Her face is brighter and more serene, as if in a peaceful sleep.

“Hello!” a voice says from behind Zelda. She turns around and sees a young woman smiling at her, clad in a magenta dress. A square of blue fabric adorned with the crest of the royal family rests against her hip. Like Zelda, her hair is the color of wheat - but unlike Zelda, it shimmers like gold in the sunlight. Blue eyes watch her, crinkled at the edges in a smile.

It hits Zelda then, who this woman is.

“You’re a princess of old,” Zelda says, wracking her mind for any hints as to which era this princess is from. She knows what the Seventh Sage looked like, and she clearly isn’t her, but she doesn’t look old enough to be the princess who fought alongside the Hero of Twilight.

Nor does she look like a pirate, ruling out the pirate princess Tetra.

She thinks of the other princesses - the one that fought between the realms of light and dark, the one that protected the power of four, and countless others - but so many of these legends are too old to keep any mention of what the princess looked like.

Time and time again, she’s reduced to nothing more than a princess.

At Zelda’s words, she giggles and shakes her head. “Wrong!”

What?

“So who are you, then?” Zelda asks, growing wary. She shifts into a more protective stance, her hand going to the holster on her hip only to find it empty. “If you’re not my ancestor, then why did you summon me here? I know this can’t be a normal dream.”

“Calm down, silly,” she says, darting forward and grabbing Zelda’s hands in her own. Her smile is warm and teasing, and although Zelda definitely thinks about drawing her hands away, for some reason she doesn’t. “You got some things right about me. Just not everything.”

Zelda retraces their conversation, carefully examining her words for the answer to this girl’s unspoken question. “But how can you be my ancestor if you aren’t a princess?”

She certainly doesn’t  _ act _ like a princess. There is no regality in her movements, no formality evident in the way she speaks - everything about her, even the uneven stitching on her dress, points to the identity of a regular village girl.

The girl beams and squeezes Zelda’s hands. “That’s it!” She lets go of Zelda and steps back to draw herself into an elegant curtsy. “My name, as you may have guessed, is also Zelda.  _ Just  _ Zelda.”

It feels like a play on Zelda’s earlier comments, and she feels her face flush with shame. The other Zelda’s expression softens, and her voice is gentle when she speaks. “You don’t know very much about me, do you? It must have been too long - I’ve never been good at keeping up with human lifespans. They’ve always been a little too short in my opinion, even my own.”

Out of all the things she could have said, that’s what clues Zelda into her identity. She looks at the girl in front of her as if seeing her the first time. “You’re the first Zelda,” she says, the realization settling over her with no small amount of gravity. “You’re Hylia made mortal!”

Aside from that, every other detail about her has been lost to time.

“There we go!” she says, clapping in delight. “Oh, you’re so smart! I’m so happy.”

“Why are you in this form, Hylia? You’ve spoken to me before, but never like this.”

“That’s because I’m not entirely Hylia. I’m Zelda, too.”

Zelda gives her a blank look, failing to see the difference between the two.

“It’s a little complicated. Hylia - you could also say I - gave up divinity to be reborn in a mortal form to keep Demise - who you know as Ganon - from breaking the seal I placed upon him. I lived the first seventeen years of my life as a regular girl, unaware of my previous life as a Goddess. I lived in a village in the sky with my family, my friends, and my Loftwing.”

At that, she whistles, and a giant bird soars down to her side. She pets its beak and scratches its feathers. It stretches its wings with a trill, proudly displaying its gorgeous indigo wings.

“That’s-” Zelda begins, but she’s cut off by the Goddess-turned-girl.

“-Like the royal family’s crest, right? I think they based it off Link’s Loftwing, since the Loftwing on the crest is usually red.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Anyways, to  _ really _ answer your question, I like this form the most. I was happy during this time, spending my days training at the academy, reading my father’s books, and flying around my home with Link.”

“Is his name always the same, too?” Zelda asks, silently berating herself for asking what was quite possibly the stupidest question she could have asked.

Hylia bursts into giggles, sharing a look with her Loftwing as if the bird understood Zelda as well. “Not always! The hero’s spirit is one that brings people together, hence the name. Sometimes he goes by different names, but usually, he’s Link and we’re Zelda.”

“And together we can defeat Ganon,” Zelda finishes.

“All throughout my life,” the girl says, seemingly ignoring Zelda’s comment, “I was told that the surface world - the same world you live on - was nothing but a fairy tale. But then I got to see it for myself, and oh, I fell in love! Even after my friends returned to the skies, I decided to stay. After fulfilling my duty, I was free to do what I wanted. Why shouldn’t the same apply to you?”

“But my kingdom,” Zelda says. “My people. Impa said the castle should be rebuilt, to be a symbol of hope for the people. Isn’t that also my duty?”

Again, Hylia softens, and something in her pitying look tells Zelda that she’s seen into Zelda’s heart all along. She knows something that Zelda herself might still be blind to, but she’s too kind to bring it out directly. “Your only duty was to seal away Ganon, and you did it. You did more than that - when most of my descendants would have run without their hero, or gone into hiding, you faced Ganon alone for an entire century.” Her smile is small, fond, and genuine. “My power runs within you, regardless of whatever title you may have. If I could be a Goddess reborn and yet nothing more than a student at the Knight Academy, then why can’t you simply be a scholar?”

Protests bubble in Zelda’s throat. To not have to rebuild Hyrule Castle, to not have to live within its walls and subjugate herself to a life of building court politics she barely understands would be so nice.

In another world, couldn’t she spend her days researching new phenomenon and chronicling history, living somewhere where the Silent Princesses are courageous enough to bloom? A place where she greets other people with a hug rather than a curtsy?

Could she do all that, and still be able to make Hyrule into a better version of itself?

She would be so happy there, but she cannot allow herself to entertain that fantasy. It hurts too much to think.

A pair of arms encircle Zelda, and she realizes with no small amount of bemusement that Hylia’s mortal form is a little shorter than her. She rests her head on Zelda’s shoulder, her body fragile like the paper-thin bones of a bird. “I know what it’s like to let down the people I love, too. But there comes a point when you have to choose what’s right for yourself. I think your father would understand that. He loved you more than anything else.”

Zelda doesn’t cry, only because she’s still in a dream, and she can will the tears away even as her heart screams.

“Hyrule Kingdom is no more, but Hyrule itself is still there. Let it become something new and beautiful, and somewhere where you belong, okay? You deserve that.”

This entire time, her voice has sounded so youthful, so vibrant and full of life, but when Hylia says that, Zelda hears an entire history’s worth of wisdom laced within her words.

 

*

 

Zelda is still alone when she wakes up. The harp lays on her lap and it takes her a moment to realize that she fell asleep sitting up, propped up against the side of the shelter Link made.

In the distance, Hyrule Castle looks like another set of ruins.

Flashes of her dream linger in her mind’s eye: Hylia wrapping her in a hug, her smile, but mostly the way she pierced deep into Zelda’s heart and patiently led out the worries that have plagued her since she sealed Ganon. Perhaps even before that, too.

Hyrule Castle is supposed to be a beacon of hope, but the people don’t see it that way. A century of evil has turned it into a place of nightmares, not of dreams.

It haunts her nightmares as well, much more often than it does the minds of children.

On a whim, she takes a picture of the castle. Perhaps to remember it by, as she knows with a deep certainty that it will never be rebuilt in her lifetime. No one will call it a home, least of all her.

Another thought, one even more traitorous than her last, hovers at the edge of the mind. She can hear it in Hylia’s youthful voice, murmured on the edge of her consciousness.

If the first Zelda wasn’t a princess, then why does this Zelda have to be?

What if she simply  _ wasn’t _ ?

 

*

 

Link and Kass return with a cart full of books long after the moon has started its ascent into the sky. Zelda plucks idly on the harp as she waits by a small fire, having written about the Goddess made incarnate in her journal earlier. She didn’t include their conversation, just a child’s fable centered on the deity made flesh and her life in the sky.

She scrambles to her feet when she sees Link approach, jogging to meet them halfway down the hill. Judging by the wobbling wheel and cracked wood, they most likely found that cart somewhere in Castle Town, but it rolls well enough. It’s filled to the brim with books, and that fact alone feels like a balm against her weary soul.

“The castle is a marvelous feat of architecture,” Kass says. “I think I have more than enough inspiration for a song solely about it.”

Link’s attention is focused on something else - namely, the cart he lets go of. “We searched the entire library, but these were the only books that weren’t destroyed.”

He looks disappointed with himself, as if its somehow his fault. Zelda tucks the harp underneath her arm and reaches for his hand, squeezing it tight in hers. “No. This is more than I dared to hope for. Thank you.”

His smile is small, shy, and utterly beautiful, sparking a warmth in her that spreads all through her body and settles comfortably somewhere in her stomach.

But she keeps the moment short, not wanting to make Kass into an unwitting audience. She turns to him next and holds out the harp. “Thank you for leaving this with me. I rather enjoy it.”

“I’m glad you do! It was actually my teacher’s,” Kass explains. “I’m not very good at playing it myself, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

So it was Vane’s harp. Probably not the same one he had when she knew him, but his all the same.

Zelda cooks them a simple dinner - baked apples and roasted bird, which warms their cold bones when the fire isn’t enough. The tension and the sadness from earlier in the day is gone, and although it isn’t quite replaced with joy, the absence of her pain is enough of a gift.

When they’ve finished eating, Kass gives the harp back to Zelda. “I think my teacher would have liked you to have this,” Kass says. “But I will ask a favor of you, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh? And what could that be?”

Kass hands a pan flute to Link - and since when did he know how to play any instrument, let alone a pan flute? - and grabs his own accordion. “Would you both be willing to play a song with me?”

Link and Zelda exchange glances, but she knows she speaks for the both of them when she says, “Of course.”

They play well into the night, jaunty melodies that meander without cause and slower, thoughtful pieces that remind her of looking at the moon on a solemn night.

If her life could consist only of moments like these, then Zelda would ask for nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I never played Skyward Sword, so I watched every SS cutscene that had Zelda in it and re-read her wiki article multiple times to try to figure out her character. I also realized how much I love SS!Zelda. One day, if I ever get my hands on a Wii again, I'll play it.


	9. Korok Forest (for some time, now)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Romance™ Chapter, which is also why its shorter than usual, because romance is hard

_ Link looks directly at the camera, surrounded by a background of soft sunlight streaming through pink petals. There is warmth in his eyes, just as there is something small and infinitely precious in his smile. He holds his hand out, displaying a single pink petal curled within. _

_ He looks ready to say something, but those whispers of affection are a sweet, shared secret. _

 

*

 

“I see you’ve returned to us, princess. Welcome back.”

The Great Deku Tree’s voice feels like an earthquake, booming across the entirety of Korok Forest. Zelda feels it reverberate in her chest, rumbling outward in invisible shockwaves. He is grand the way the dragons are grand, but rooted to the earth in a way utterly unlike the spirits that take to the sky. His roots go much farther than the tiny enclave of trees that protect himself and his children; something Zelda doesn't need to see to know.

But even a deity, one old enough to remember the princess that first fought alongside the Guardians and the Divine Beasts and even before then, can be incorrect.

“I’m pleased to see you again, Great Deku Tree. But I must request that you call me Zelda,” she says, bowing her head.

She stands beside Link, the Master Sword in his hands. 

“Oh?” Even with that lone syllable, his voice booms loud enough to make the Koroks giggle with surprise and disappear into the leaves. “I have met many princesses in my lifetime, both ones that fought Ganon and ones that didn’t, but never one who refused her title.”

She thinks back to Hylia - to the first Zelda - who was simply a girl. “The blood of the Goddess incarnate flows within me. I don’t need to claim a royal title for that to remain true.”

The Great Deku Tree has a face that bears similar features to an older Hylian man, but he does not emote in the same way that Hylians do. His face moves slowly, settling into a shadow of a normal expression long after he’s finished his thought. For the most part, his voice barely moves past the same steady cadence, fluctuating only with the change of the wind; sudden and unpredictable. 

His expression stretches, wood groaning in the space of the small clearing, into something close to curiosity. “You have always been a unique one,” he says. “But very well. I will respect your choice, Zelda.”

Hearing her name, and  _ only _ her name, feels like a balm on her frazzled nerves. She bows her head in a silent show of thanks, knowing that the Great Deku Tree is far too old and far too wise to interpret it as anything else.

He turns his attention to Link. “And what of you, Link? The sword no longer calls to you. Will you return it to its sleep?”

Link looks at the blade in his hand.

He doesn’t remember when he drew it - but Zelda remembers his story.

After the prophecy came to light and Zelda’s own training began, her father mounted a search across all of Hyrule for the hero that could wield the sword. That detail she supplies from her own memories, of countless hours of meetings coupled with countless nights where Zelda would sneak in to ask for a bedtime story, only to be chastised for interrupting her father’s business.

She stopped asking for stories after that.

Not a single knight from the royal guard was able to budge the Master Sword from its pedestal, not even the captain himself. Link had come with his father after hours of begging, curious to see the sword that his country’s fate rested upon.

Link asked if he could try drawing the sword. For whatever reason - most likely to get him to stop asking - his father agreed.

So a thirteen year old Link stepped up to the pedestal, looked at a sword the size of half his body, and pulled it out with the ease of a hot knife slicing through butter.

His life changed drastically after that, as did his personality.

But all that is in the past, leaving her with the man that boy might have grown up to be in a more peaceful lifetime. His time as the chosen hero has ended. The sword is no longer his to claim.

“I cannot force you to return it to its slumber,” the Great Deku Tree says, sensing Link’s hesitation. “But I must also inform you that, while you both may be unable to hear its voice, I can still hear its whispers.”

“What does it say?” Link asks.

“It wishes to see its original master again, something it can only do in its slumber.”

 

*

 

They decide to stay the night, if only because the Koroks are overjoyed to see who they call ‘Mr. Hero’ and ‘Miss Princess.’

Zelda insists on her name, but after the Koroks brave enough to actually talk to her begin calling her ‘Miss Zelda,’ the word  _ princess _  becomes relegated to whispers between the leaves.

Link is off spying on one of the smallest Koroks as it makes its way to the shrine, making sure that nothing hurts it on the way over. He’s done something similar before, according to the Korok that sent him off with a high-pitched plea.

That’s how Zelda finds herself in the sword’s clearing, watching an abnormally large Korok dance happily to a tune he sings himself. A few Silent Princesses cling to the edges of the stone pedestal and Zelda runs her hands over the petals, delighting at how they glow silver in the moonlight.

They’ve always been her favorite, then and now. They speak to her in a way that few things do, as if she’s seeing a piece of herself reflected here. Few people see the beauty in a flower so hard to grow that it’s spent a century at the edge of existence, but for her, it shines clearly. 

The Great Deku Tree’s voice booms in her chest before she makes out his words within her ears. “Did you tell him?”

She looks up. “Tell who what?”

“A century ago, you asked me to pass on a message to Link when he awoke and returned here. If you recall, I advised you that those words would sound much sweeter from your own mouth.”

“Oh.”

Zelda looks down, her face growing warm, but not warm enough to dim her small smile. Her embarrassment mingles with a strange sort of happiness at the fact that what she wanted to say to him previously has held true. He isn’t the same person she once loved, but he’s someone she loves now.

Her love has changed too, matured into something a little fuller and a little more grounded, but it is love all the same.

“No, but I don’t think there’s a need to speak it. I’m certain he knows,” she says more quietly than she intended. Now she merely hopes she won’t have to repeat herself and potentially embarrass herself further.

“That may be true, but there is power in speaking your thoughts into life. I have seen many girls torn away from the knights they loved, and there is no reason for you to share their fate.”

That’s a rather ominous way to put it, but Zelda understands what he’s trying to say. She gets to her feet, hands clenched at her sides, and nods.

 

*

 

She does not tell him that night.

Instead, her thoughts go to the sword on his back, which currently rests against the wall on the inside of the Great Deku Tree. The Koroks have hollowed out a hole within him and turned it into a sort of inn, and while he insisted on them making themselves comfortable, Zelda can’t shake how odd the situation is.

Sleeping inside of a guardian deity that’s lived for thousands of years was not how she expected to ever spend her night.

She can barely stand up straight within the small enclave since everything is decidedly Korok-sized, save for the bed made of worn green leaves. That is clearly made for one Hylian, and while they’ve shared a bed before, Zelda isn’t sure how the two of them will be able to fit on that small thing. She isn’t looking forward to the inevitable argument over who will sleep on the floor and who will volunteer the other for the bed.

For now, that argument is still a few hours away. 

“I’m going to return the sword,” Link announces to the air in front of him. At the sound of his voice, a couple of dozing Koroks wake up and scurry away, their movements ringing like wind chimes.

Legend has it that they were once people - and that the Hero of Time was raised as one. Given the distinctly inhuman way they move through the world, Zelda cannot bring herself to believe it.

“Do you really want to?” Zelda asks.

Link grabs the sword and unsheathes it, watching its blade glow in the light of the nearby fire. Why the Koroks let a cooking pot stay on fire inside a giant  _ wooden tree _ is beyond Zelda’s comprehension, but since they laughed at her earlier concern, it must not be an issue. 

“I feel like my identity used to be wrapped up with this sword. I don’t know how old I was when I drew it, but in all my memories, it feels like I’ve always had it. Almost like it was the most important part of me.”

“You were thirteen,” Zelda murmurs.

“That makes sense,” Link says, turning it in the light and watching the way the light dances off the metal. “Did I ever hear it speak like you did?”

“No. But whatever connection you have with it has never needed words.”

“It’s easier to use than any other sword I’ve ever had. It feels so natural in my grip." He swings the sword in front of him, as if to show his point. "Before I saved you, I only had it for a couple of months. It’s a special sword, but it isn’t everything.” He sets it down. “Still, it’s a shame to let go of an unbreakable weapon.”

She dwells on his words long enough for a sick envy to ignite somewhere deep in her, gnashing its teeth and spitting curses at how he’s always had it easier than her. It mutters and growls about how he was celebrated for finding his destiny when she was forced into it. And instead of struggling through the repercussions of what destiny left them with, he can drop the past and be free from that weight.

She thinks of what he said to her, back in the ruins of Dewa Village, how she couldn’t let her own memories become a prison. The monster within her howls its protests - how he’s wrong, how he’s never understood.

But he’s always understood, or at least made the effort to try.

Besides that, even Hylia Herself has worked to slowly pry the shackles of the past off Zelda’s wrists. She is not chained to that any longer, and neither is he.

What she finally says is, “It’ll be beneficial for you.”

Maybe it’ll be beneficial for her, too.

 

*

 

Link stands in front of the Master Sword’s pedestal, sword in hand as he prepares to return the weapon that shaped his life to its resting place. The Great Deku Tree watches him, expression entirely unreadable, his face stoic and unmoving even as Koroks dart in and out of his branches. It seems as if every single one of the little spirits has gathered to watch the end of an era.

The end of an era. One of the Koroks called it that earlier that morning, chatting with its taller, lankier companion as they skipped their way through the clearing. Zelda made sure to stay silent as she journaled, pen barely scratching against the page so they wouldn’t hear her and run away. They were a flighty race, easily startled like the most timid doe but cunning like a cat that trots just out of her reach when she goes to pet it.

Now, even the flightiest of Koroks creep into the light just to watch Link. He looks at the Master Sword with only a hint of a smile, but Zelda sees it for what it is.

A goodbye to an old friend.

When he turns that smile on her, it grows, making her warm all over. He sets the sword back into the stone, pushing a few times until it settles with a loud click and a brief flash of light.

She realizes it then, though she isn’t exactly sure what triggers it.

He didn’t just do that for himself, or as per the sword’s request.

He also did it for her.

 

*

 

She asks him to go on a walk with her, later that afternoon. They should leave soon, perhaps set out for Death Mountain so they can escape the first cold snap of winter, but leaving a clearing that exists eternally in spring only to brave the searing cold and even more searing heat immediately after is hard.

They walk aimlessly through the trees, stepping over massive roots and ducking under branches that sweep a little too low for comfort. Koroks giggle as they pass by the trees, but now that Link is without the Master Sword, they don’t seem to pay as much attention to him.

After what happened this morning, she knows she has to tell him. If only to let him hear it and let the words hang in the air, given shape and form after a century of waiting. If only because the Great Deku Tree is right.

But probably because he deserves to know, and deserves to have any and all doubt cast out of his heart.

The words are there, but she can’t bring herself to say them quite yet. She can’t say something with that much gravity out of nowhere.

She thinks, with an amused smile, about what Paya, with her stack of old romance stories tucked away in her room, would think if she heard that Zelda had told Link out of the blue.

“What are you smiling about?” Link asks, startling Zelda into nearly tripping over a tree branch. He catches her arm as she stumbles and helps to steady her, patient as she stutters and scrambles for an answer that won’t  _ also _ devastate Paya when she inevitably hears about it.

“Books,” she answers hastily, trying to fill the considerable gap of silence she opened. Link breathes out a chuckle and smiles to himself, allowing Zelda to breathe a mental sigh of relief. At least he believed her.

He’s even gracious enough to change the subject. “Honestly... I am a little sad to put the Master Sword away. I mean, I spent months hearing about the legendary sword that sealed the darkness, and almost as long having people doubt my identity because I didn’t have it. And now… I don’t have it again.”

“But you’re still a hero,” Zelda says. “Sword or no sword.”

“Yeah.” Link looks up to the sky, eyes tracking a single leaf as it flutters down. He catches it in his hand. “Do you think they’ll sing songs about us sealing away the Calamity?”

“Hasn’t Kass already drafted two separate songs about us?”

“Oh yeah. He has.”

It’s an odd thought, to be immortalized. In a way, they already are - she’s heard songs in Kakariko and Hateno about herself and Link, always painting her in a light she still struggles to think is something well-earned. 

What will people think of them a hundred years from now? A thousand? How will those songs have morphed - what will be remembered and what forgotten?

She glances over at Link - at the man she once fell in love with, only to fall in love all over again. The songs already speak of her love for him, but will the new ones speak of the way they’ve grown and changed? Will they mention how they grew apart, only to learn how to grow together again?

Will they sing of these moments, the ones sweeter to her than any epic ballad could ever be? 

Something else flutters down from the sky, and this one Link catches in his hand. “It’s pink,” he says, opening his fist to show to Zelda. A pale pink flower petal sits in the center of his hand. “It’s pretty.”

On impulse, Zelda grabs the Sheikah Slate and takes a picture of Link. They may not sing of this moment, but she wants to remember that smile forever.

By the time she’s set the Sheikah Slate back in its holster, Link’s smile has faded, replaced with pure confusion. “Why’d you take a picture?” he asks, confusion morphing into wariness.

_ Because you’re beautiful _ , part of her wants to say. Knowing that she’d only embarrass the both of them with a statement that mawkishly sentimental, she bites her tongue.

“Well?” Link says.

“I love you,” Zelda blurts out.

Zelda thinks, a little hysterically, that Paya must be somewhere shedding a tear at the death of romance, and it’s all Zelda’s fault.

Link, to his credit, doesn’t look nearly as flustered as Zelda feels. If she were any younger, she would run off and hide underneath a rock just as the Koroks to for the next… year or so, most likely.

But then his face splits into a grin, something so dazzling and brilliant that she doesn’t even attempt to take a picture of it, because it could never compare to the real thing. It makes her feel warm all over.

He’s like the sun on her back, or the stars guiding her path at night, or the rush of cool water on her skin after a hot day, or any other number of silly, lovestruck metaphors.

What he is, above all else, is wonderful.

He smile turns teasing, and that sight almost does make Zelda run and hide. By the time he speaks, it’s too late for her to escape. “Is that what you wanted to tell me the last time you came here?” he asks, as if he didn’t already know the answer. 

Her voice catches in her throat, a small laugh bubbling up in its place. She nods.

“I thought so,” he says, and thankfully only allows himself a couple of moments to be smug about it. Once that phase is over, he lets the petal flutter to the ground as he steps closer and wraps his arms around Zelda.

He holds her close, filling her with warmth both inside and out. He’s still slightly shorter than her, and he will probably remain that way for the rest of his life, but she finds that they fit perfectly together. 

A blessing from Hylia, maybe. 

“Imagine all the lifetimes our predecessors spent their lives wishing for this moment,” he murmurs into her neck.

She holds him close in turn. “And imagine how few of them were ever able to get it,” she murmurs back.

It is rare for her to feel blessed by anything, but there is no other word for this. So many Zeldas were robbed of the things they loved, forced to linger in castles or in dungeons, away from whoever could understand their destiny. So many Zeldas watched their heroes leave them behind at the end of their tale.

The songs don’t sing of their heartbreak.

But, as Zelda feels Link whisper those same words against her neck that she had just told him, and as she clings even more tightly to him, she knows with certainty that they will never sing of hers.


	10. Goron City (started too young)

_ Yunobo stands in front of Vah Rudania’s control panel, his youthful face shining with triumph. His grin is youthful and vibrant, still carrying the innocence that only childhood can ever call its own. The ancient machinery, a complicated labyrinth of wires of and gears hidden underneath old metal, glows in front of him, casting him in a blue light. _

_ He is young and triumphant, and something unlike his world has ever seen. _

 

*

 

Ozunda, the master of Foothill Stable, has a soft spot for dogs. As Link makes the proper arrangements to leave their horses at the stable so the poor things don’t spontaneously combust on the sweltering path up the mountain, Zelda feels a slight pressure against the back of her leg.

Looking down, she catches the eye of a Hylian Retriever - a girl, from the looks of it. Her mouth drops open and her tail wags back and forth, clearly demanding head scratches. Zelda is all too happy to oblige.

A purple dog trots over and headbutts her other hand. With a small laugh, she indulges it as well. Two more dogs appear out of nowhere, bounding up to her with the energy of puppies. Sadly, she doesn’t have enough hands to pet them all. If there was a way to use the Sheikah Slate to assist her with her problem, then she’d gladly take it, but nothing comes immediately to mind. 

What a beautiful problem to have, to be surrounded by friendly dogs and unable to pet them all.

Death Mountain looms over the distance. According to Link, the teartracks of lava running down its face is no longer the violent, wracking sobs it was when Vah Rudania rampaged, but it still looks dangerous to her. The heat of the Gerudo Desert summers is tough, but bearable. 

The air being so hot that Zelda could potentially explode into flames at any moment? It’s a bit too extreme for her tastes.

It makes her think of Daruk, of his easygoing nature and the way he always laughed off that particular concern of hers. He never could understand why Hylians - let alone the Zora, who no amount of fireproof elixirs can help - found it so hard to visit Goron City.

One of the dogs licks her face, vying for her attention. She pets its back, enjoying the feeling of soft fur gliding between her fingers. 

Daruk would have been  _ terrified  _ of this exact situation.

She once told him that she wanted a dog, only for his jaw to drop open as if she had kissed a Moblin on its ugly snout in front of him. 

...Which, in turn, prompts a memory from the night before to flash in her mind. Of Link, face red in the fire’s light, and the tender kisses he shared with her. She buries her face in the closest dog’s fluffy neck to hide her smile from the world - or at the very least, the amused older woman watching her childish reaction.

Oh, what would her father think, of her on the ground with several mangy mutts (his words, not hers) and kissing her once-knight under the stars?

...What  _ would _ her father think?

Her hand stills and she lifts her face. With a quiet whine, the dog she just stopped petting noses at her side, while the others snap at each other and dash off to play. 

His diary is still in her horse’s bag, because it weighs hers down like lead and keeps her frozen in place. It’s been almost a week since she got it, and she still hasn’t read it. 

It would have almost been a blessing if that journal hadn’t survived, but Hylia will not offer that bittersweet grace.

 

*

 

“Would you believe me if I told you it was even hotter than this before?” Link asks, chugging the last of a fireproof elixir in one long gulp. The horses have been left at the stable, safe from the air that would inevitably light their short fur on fire if they climbed this high. 

Zelda has never been certain on the specifics, but the elixirs seem to work by making her sweat some sort of flame retardant chemical. The way her hair clings to her neck and forehead is incredibly annoying, but its a small price to pay for not being on fire.

She isn’t entirely sure why her hair and clothes don’t burst into flame, but she’s thankful enough to not risk herself through an experiment.

...Oh, maybe one day. But not now.

The elixir does nothing to cool her down though, not the way that cooling elixirs and cold meat always did in the desert.

Zelda, remembering that Link had said something to her, makes an inquisitive noise. Thankfully, he takes that for what she means it to be - a sign to continue. “They have a fireproof set of armor in the city, but I don’t like wearing it. It helped keep me alive near the summit, but it looked terrible,” he says, the bridge of his nose crinkled in distaste.

Zelda can’t help but laugh. “That’s what did you in? The gaudy armor?”

“You don’t understand how ugly it is. No amount of dye could save it, and I definitely tried.”

“Then why not use elixirs?”

He sighs. “The city isn’t bad, but the summit is so hot that I didn’t have a choice even after drinking the elixir.”

“Ah. Unfortunate,” she says, entirely unsympathetic to his fashion plight. 

They reach the Southern Mines, a new addition to the path to Goron City since the last time Zelda was here. The Goron population has always been small, dominated by a carefully maintained supply of rock sirloin supplied by the mountain itself. There were barely enough Gorons around to work the Northern Mine, let alone a second southern branch.

That’s the way Gorons live; from birth to death, their lives are dictated by the mountain they came from.

Currently, most of the Gorons are hard at work. They sing jaunty tunes as they mine, pickaxes swinging to the rhythm set by their songs. The words tumble past Zelda like a rockslide, their voices imbued with gravel. 

Zelda doesn’t recognize the song, but enjoys it nonetheless. Link appears to as well, given the way it hangs in the back of his throat as he tries to hum along. He can’t quite replicate the notes, but his attempt is pleasant enough to hear. 

They pass by a small shelter, where a two Gorons rest. Curious, Zelda approaches them. It’s been a long time since she spoke with a Goron. She tries to search her mind for a typical Goron greeting, but upon coming up empty-handed, she settles on something standard across every race.

When she finally gets close enough to greet them, she realizes that they’re both asleep. The old Goron mumbles to himself in his sleep, and the younger one - a child, complete with a child-sized construction helmet! - sleeps on his back, dead to the world. 

“I was hoping to speak to them,” Zelda says, not bothering to hide her disappointment. There’s little need to around Link.

It even works to her benefit, as Link rubs gentle circles on her arm. The small gesture works wonders to comfort her. 

“They’ll be up tonight, if you’re willing to wait around that long,” Link says. Zelda is unsurprised to find out he knows their schedule.  She considers that possibility. She still had half of the legend of how the Koroks came to be (as told by the Great Deku Tree himself) transcribed in her journal, and provided the pages don’t combust, that could be something to work on until nightfall.

There are also entries in the Hyrule Compendium she still needs to update and pictures she needs to re-take, especially for the wildlife in this area. Link’s pictures of the Eldin ostrich are simply abhorrent and need to be replaced as soon as possible.

Though it  _ should _ get done, she doesn’t feel a particular desire to work on that at the moment.

Link, seemingly sensing her hesitation, offers his own suggestion. “I’m running low on fireproof lizards. Do you want to help me catch some?”

She instantly knows that she won’t be much help, but she agrees anyways.

He changes into his Sheikah armor, which muffle his footsteps and let him move as silently as a shadow even in broad daylight. Zelda is left with absolutely nothing to boost her stealth. While Link has some horrid facade of the Evil King stashed away as a pathetic excuse for armor and an affront to her very being, she refuses to use it. Ever.

He tried to wear the helmet once, but she knocked it right off his head and refused to let him wear it around her ever again.

And since she needs the fireproof elixir to be able to exist in an area this hot, she can’t use a stealth elixir to dampen her footsteps. All she has is the old-fashioned way - sneaking up on the creatures and hoping for the best.

Before she starts, she watches Link get to work. While his movements have always been unusually quiet, he’s so quiet now that if Zelda wasn’t watching him, she wouldn’t know he was even here. He walks up a small pathway overlooking a few rocks, casually leaning down and plucking a black lizard right off the ground. He drops it into his pack, a process that he repeats for the three other lizards in his way. Not a single one even looks at him before his hand wraps around it.

“See?” Link says, dropping a fourth lizard into his pack, “Simple.”

Her smile feels rueful, but not malicious. “Simple for you, perhaps. I’ll just be happy to get a single one.”

“I bet you could get two.”

“Thank you, for that wonderful vote of confidence.”

His grin is small and spry, and makes her stomach flip in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. Of course, he follows it up by picking up a large stone and snatching up the lizard that hides underneath like a starving wolf, but that part of him is just as integral to who he is as the dashing hero.

Zelda turns away from the steady path Link picks through the mines, her gaze settling on a few piles of stone behind the Goron’s shelter. Keeping low to the ground, she picks her way across the scorching dirt, careful not to let her uncovered fingers brush against the earth for too long. Fireproof elixir or not, she doesn’t wish to burn her fingers.

She rolls over one of the larger stones, revealing a fireproof lizard. Startled by the sudden light, it scrabbles away from Zelda before she’s even let go of the cursed rock. With a determined frown, she drops the rock and dashes after the tiny creature, arms outstretched as she tries to grab it.

The lizard darts between two rocks and out of Zelda’s reach, leaving her panting, hot, and thoroughly embarrassed. She catches Link grinning at her from across the mine, and steadfastly ignores him as she returns to the group of stones.

By some stroke of luck, her ridiculous running didn’t startle the other lizards - most likely because they were already hiding. One gets away before she can take it, but she manages to catch one before it escapes her grasp.

“Aha!” she cries, cradling the struggling creature close. “Oooh, Link, look! I caught one!”

She goes to him as he catches yet another lizard, but he acts as if her single catch is just as impressive as the bag full of them at his side. “See? Now all you need is one more.”

“I suppose so,” she says, handing him the lizard. He puts it in his bag.

She tries, just as she has always tried, not to think of the implications of that. Link carries around a lot of strange things, and a pack full of live lizards really isn’t that much stranger than Moblin guts.

...Although the Moblin guts are incredibly strange.

Such is their life.

By the time nightfall comes, Zelda’s managed to catch four more lizards. She was lucky enough to catch another one hiding underneath a rock, and catching them became much easier once she discovered that Stasis worked on the small things. It was a little difficult to aim correctly, given how small they are, but nothing compared to sprinting after them like a fool.

She doesn’t need to ask Link to know he’s caught enough to make enough fireproof elixirs to last the few weeks they’ll most likely stay here. He’s also tactful enough not to give her a concrete number for their total.

When they return to the main path, Zelda watches the old Goron stand up and shuffle over to one of the rock outcroppings.

“Now’s your chance,” Link says. “I’ll be making elixirs if you need me.”

She nods, a gesture that he rightfully takes as permission to leave. 

The Goron grabs the pickaxe affixed to his back and swings it into the rock in front of him, moving with a fluidity that could only be born from decades of experience. He grunts softly as he moves, but his old age doesn’t seem to impede his work at all. 

As she watches him, she realizes that he moves as if this is the only thing he’s ever known. It probably is.

“Care to explain why you’re watching me, little Hylian?” the Goron asks, his voice coarse with age.

“Oh! My apologies. I would like to hear your thoughts on this region is all,” Zelda explains hastily, silently cursing herself for her overt formality.

As a child, she once heard Goron travelers in Castle Town claim that Gorons didn’t understand the concept of rudeness. Not because they were an entirely polite people, but because frankness was a quality to be admired, not scorned.

Still mining to the same steady beat, the Goron turns his head just enough to side-eye Zelda. “You look familiar,” he says.

Her heart stutters within her chest before soaring high. Gorons can live incredibly long lives, and while they rarely live past a century, it’s possible in a way that it isn’t for people who aren’t Zora. This Goron is definitely an elder. Maybe she met him as a child, or maybe he simply saw her on one of her trips to visit Daruk.

But before she can respond, his eyes light with recognition. Like him, his eyes are old, tired at the edges, but filled with a fire that keeps him moving. “You’re the princess,” he says.

Zelda isn’t sure what to say to that, but yet again, he grants her a reprieve.

“There’s a statue of you deep in Goron City. A tiny one, but I remember seeing it.”

The pulse filling her ears comes to a stop, her elation deflating like an octo balloon in cold air. 

“How… old are you?” Zelda asks. 

“Fifty? Maybe sixty? Lost track over the years,” he grunts. “Better question is how old  _ you _ are, considering you knew Daruk and all.”

Always a hard question to answer, but if Gorons appreciate frankness, then that’s something Zelda can give. “Well. Technically I’m over a century old, but my body is seventeen and a half.”

“Magic’s always strange with you Hylians,” he mutters, mostly to himself. Whether it’s poor volume control or simply a lack of care on his part as to whatever Zelda may think, she isn’t sure. “I’m Bohrin. Your name is Zelda, right?”

“Yes.”

“Any brother of Daruk’s is a brother to all Gorons. Good to meet you,” he says, and turns his attention back his work.

Gorons use male terminology, despite not really being male the same way that many other races are male. Anyone dear to the Gorons is a brother, regardless of however many eyebrows Hylians may raise at the title.

Daruk was like that too, but out of respect for the crown, he always called her the tiny princess. When he first met her, the title really seemed to fit. He was double her height and four times her size the first time she visited Goron City, waddling behind her father in the most uncomfortable fortress of armor she has ever donned in her life.

He laughed at the sight of this child, her back straight as a rod and her chin tilted up behind her massive helmet, and said that all her armor only made her look smaller. She was the tiniest princess he ever saw.

But he loved her, and he looked out for her, in so many of the ways that her own father didn’t.

_ Did you ever have children? _  she had once asked him, her ethereal voice stretching across the land to to settle with his spirit.

_ One _ , he had replied.  _ I hope the little guy made it through. He could eat like a Hinox!  _

The joke was lighthearted, but she heard his concern. 

And, Goddess above, it is a miracle that his descendent survived. That his legacy lives on.

_So few have_ , she notes with a weight deep in her chest, one that will follow her everywhere.

 

*

 

Even when Daruk was named a Champion, most Gorons only knew him as Boss. He would walk through Goron City, buffeted by greetings of “Hey Boss!” from every angle. Even his successor, a Goron with a deep-belly laugh and eternally mirthful eyes, only ever called him Boss.

Zelda hopes Brimwal was as good of a leader as he was a follower.

Almost everyone only refers to Bludo, the current leader, as Boss as well. He runs the city like a mining company; any Goron who can’t work for whatever reason tends to the rest of the city. Their market for tourists is surprisingly large, given the fact that every other race will literally explode into flames if they wander into the area without the proper equipment. 

Bludo is everything a Goron would aspire to be, at least within the realms of Zelda’s somewhat limited knowledge: he’s strong, courageous, frank, and dedicated in equal parts to his work and to his brothers.

The moment Zelda mentioned Vah Rudania, Bludo grunted and pointed her towards Yunobo. “That pebble’s the one ya gotta talk to, not me. I don’t know nothin’ about Vah Rudania, except that it’s not all lit up like it used to be.”

Daruk’s spirit has passed on as well.

She thinks she knows when he left this world. She couldn’t make out the words, but not long after she returned to her own body, she thought she heard his hearty laughter carried by the wind.

It could have been a trick of her ears, but she wants to believe better than that.

Bludo’s successor, a youth with a strange mop of hair on the top of his head and a face that looks permanently nervous, is almost none of those things.

Despite that, Zelda thinks he’s charming, in the way that boys who don’t realize how precious their youth is usually are.

At the sound of their footsteps, he instantly curls within himself and summons an orange shield - Zelda instantly recognizes it as Daruk’s Protection. The barrier makes the champion’s sash, nothing more than an old piece of cloth tied haphazardly around where his neck would be if he was a Hylian, all the brighter.

Daruk feared silly things, too. Does he know that, or is that the thought that keeps this boy up at night? 

He dares a glance at them from behind his hands, and upon recognizing Link, the barrier around him fades to nothing. “O-oh! Link!” he says, false bravado painting his voice a color Zelda knows it shouldn’t be, “I’m on the lookout for monsters! Thought you might have been one,” he explains, punctuating with a laugh that tries too hard not to sound nervous.

“Monsters coming from the city?” Link asks, a single eyebrow raised. It isn’t an accusation, merely a question.

“Steps echo on the bridge! It could have come from anywhere.”

Link’s eyebrow remains raised as a silent challenge. Yunobo sputters out something utterly incomprehensible before looking away. “...I’m trying to be braver,” he murmurs.

Seeing her chance, Zelda steps forward. “Perhaps I can help you with that. My name is Zelda. I knew your grandfather.”

It takes him a moment to decipher what Zelda’s saying, just as it takes her a moment to realize what’s made him so confused. Gorons have fathers and sons, but their immediate family doesn’t go any farther back. A father’s father simply becomes an ancestor, an older brother to look up to.

Given Daruk’s age and Goron lifespans, Yunobo is most likely his grandson, even if he wouldn’t call the relationship that himself.

Before Zelda explain further, Yunobo gasps. “You knew Lord Daruk?”

“I’m sorry,  _ Lord _ Daruk?”

_ Daruk, what would you think of that name? _

Even though she knows its only her own mind supplying the answer, she knows his response so well that she can almost hear it in an echo of his voice.

_ The Lord thing’s a little funny, but hey, still pretty cool! _

She allows herself a small giggle, but quickly sobers up in time for Yunobo’s response.

“Well yeah! That’s the title Hylians give to people they really look up to, right? And Lord Daruk is the greatest Goron who ever lived, goro! And since you knew him, then you must be…”

“With his help - or rather, the help of his spirit - Link and I were able to seal away the Calamity and bring peace to Hyrule once again,” Zelda finishes for him, tactfully dodging the conclusion and the specific phrase she knew he was going to use. 

“Wow!” Yunobo’s grin splits his face in two, all youthful energy and an earnestness that the worries of the world have yet to erode. “And Link getting to Vah Rudania - that helped you do it?”

Zelda nods. “Thank you for your help, Yunobo. But I need your help again.”

Fear flashes in his eyes so briefly that an untrained eye may not have caught it, but Zelda is too well-versed in how fear seeps through someone’s veins to miss it. “W-what can I do?” he asks, fighting to keep a tremble out of his voice.

Zelda almost doesn’t want to ask him. She entertains the idea of leaving him here and asking Bludo for a recommendation for another pilot, one that would gladly take the role on. Most Gorons would gladly take the opportunity to prove themselves to the rest of their brothers. 

That’s what brotherhood is, or at least, part of it; protecting the ones you love.

Daruk’s visage is carved into the mountain behind them, eternally grinning down at the brothers he swore to protect. She thinks of the stories Link told her about his fight just to reach Vah Rudania, and the way Yunobo took each terrifying step up the mountain.

He could have run away at any point. He could have left Link to fend for himself.

But he didn’t. He is a child in the way that Riju isn’t. Fear still coils around him like a snake, but his bravery comes in spite of that. His courage doesn’t spring from a well deep within him, but is refined from every action he takes against the tide of his fear.

With that story alone, he would make Daruk impossibly proud. Imagine what else he could accomplish, if given the proper time and training.

She sees his reservations, but simmering underneath that is his potential, vast like an ocean.

“Will you be Vah Rudania’s new pilot? If you accept, I promise to guide you however I can.”

He freezes, and she knows what he must be picturing in his mind: the Divine Beast stomping over the very mountain that gives his people life, raining lava down on their home and destroying their livelihoods.

She expects him to ask for some time to think about his answer. She expects him to back away, to stammer, to do something to escape the situation - if only based on what little she knows about him from Link’s stories.

What she doesn’t expect is the way his fists clench at his sides, his jaw set in a firm line. The fear doesn’t leave his eyes, nor does the tremble leave his voice, but he tells her, “Yes.”

 

*

 

Within Vah Rudania, there is nothing but darkness. Zelda isn’t entirely surprised, as no living soul would have ventured within its interior for months. She doubts Daruk’s spirit would have needed light to do his work. 

Yunobo shudders at the darkness that swallows them whole as soon as they enter, but they have no other choice. Its walls somehow keep the oppressive heat of Death Mountain out, and neither Link nor Zelda packed enough fireproof elixirs to last the entire day here.

“Try using Daruk’s Protection,” Link instructs, the sound of him rummaging through his items filling the gaps that the light has left. Zelda stands perfectly still, not trusting herself to not run into a wall.

How many hours had she spent pouring over Vah Rudania’s schematics? How many more hours did she spend, her nights measured by the length of the candle she used to read by, trying to figure out how to help Daruk when he struggled to pilot it? 

She knows its interiors almost as well as she knew Vah Naboris’s, but her memory is poisoned, steeped in the bitterness she felt when she discovered that her research was for nothing. Daruk discovered how to pilot it with no help from her countless hours of research, but only because Link forced him to spend a day wandering within it. 

Her world was built by books and theory; his was built by the planks of life.

Things are better now, but that bitterness only makes her ashamed of her past behavior, and she cannot bring herself to examine it any further.

Thankfully, she does not need to. An orange barrier surrounds Yunobo, forcing Zelda to stumble away from him. His hastily muttered apology is lost in the gentle hum it creates.

She closes her eyes, extinguishing its gentle glow from her sight. Like this, it reminds her of a lullaby. A promise of safety, an affirmation that tomorrow will come.

She misses Daruk intensely, misses the way he always made tomorrow seem so much brighter than she ever thought it was.

Was he afraid of the dark? Was he afraid of the things it could hold?

She’s always found the darkness to be exciting, full of possibilities waiting to be discovered. Light was never a conqueror for her fear, but a tool to help her discover its contents. As a child, the constant lights in the castle always bothered her, if only because of the constant supply of torch oil the staff were always busy fetching. She could never count the number of times her dinner was delayed because of how many of the castle staff were in town, bartering for more.

The answer only hit her in her imprisonment, after every light in the castle but hers had been swallowed by Ganon.

Her father, king of Hyrule, was afraid of the dark.

Her heart stutters to a stop, but she forces the thought away. She has to focus now, not spend her time ruminating on castle torches that she’ll never light again.

_ He would be disappointed. _

“Link, hand me a torch,” she says. “Preferably a lit one.”

He does, and she spends the next few minutes trailing the edges of the walls, lighting every torch she nearly runs into. She hits her knees against them more than once, and despite the feeble protection her leggings afford her, she knows she’ll be greeted by purpling bruises tonight.

They hurt a little, but she has experienced far worse. The physical pain is nothing. 

Something within Vah Rudania stirs when she lights the final torch, gears whirring to life somewhere that she can’t see. She can finally see her entire surroundings.

Somewhere behind her, Yunobo gasps. “This is so cool!” he says, his voice ricocheting off the walls as he turns to Link. “Lord Daruk piloted this entire thing by himself?”

She doesn’t hear Link’s response, but when Yunobo replies with an even louder, “Wow!” she doesn’t need words to figure out what he said.

Now that they can actually navigate the interior, Zelda returns to the others. She thinks back to the diagrams that used to hang on the wall of her study, staunchly ignoring the small voice that cheerfully reminds her how she didn’t bother to see her own study when she visited the castle.

It’s time to instruct the new pilot. Nothing else matters. 

 

*

 

Yunobo listens intently, taking in everything he can from Zelda. He won’t touch Vah Rudania’s controls, claiming that he doesn’t feel ready to do so after only a couple hours of instruction. 

“It’s perfectly safe,” she says, gesturing to the main control panel. The enormous bulb looms over them, intricate wiring far beyond her understanding hidden within. 

“Still! It’s getting kind of late, too. Um, maybe tomorrow?” he offers, the excuse sounding weak to Zelda’s ears. 

That doesn’t stop her from accepting it. Best not to push him. “Very well. We can head back.”By the time they return to Goron City, the miners from the North have all returned. Several of them roll by Zelda, Link, and Yunobo on the way down, barreling down the mountain and speeds that only speak of their familiarity with the path.

The city is bursting with life. What seems like half of the city is clustered around a massive cooking pot. Rock roasts sizzle away in the pan, surrounded by eager hands and open, smiling mouths. The Gorons who have already obtained a rock roast hold the charred stones in their hands a little further away from the main throng.

“Oh man, rock roast is my favorite!” Yunobo says, as if rock roast wasn’t the favorite food of every Goron. Zelda resists the urge to point that out. “Have you guys tried some yet? You’ve got to!”

Zelda and Link exchange worried glances. She remembers the rock roast Daruk tried to feed her, how she broke off a piece and tried to eat it for the sake of cultural sensitivity.

Of course, it tasted like literal burnt dirt and went down her throat like a medicinal pill designed for horses. She nearly choked on it.

Even a century after the occurrence, she is not ready to attempt that again.

“Have you tried it before?” Zelda whispers to Link.

“Once. I got curious after bringing one to a Goron.” He shudders. “It didn’t end well.”

“What do we tell him?”

“The truth?”

Zelda is unimpressed. “Well yes, that would be nice. Do you think he’ll accept the truth.”

Link pauses to consider her question. “He’ll be sad. What if we sneak off instead?”

It’s phrased as an innocent question, but the phrasing makes her think of foolish teenagers escaping from their parents’ houses to enjoy each other’s presence in the dead of night, away from disappointed voices and prying eyes.

It sends a thrill down her spine just as it make embarrassment flare in her gut. She is not a foolish teenager.

She’s not sure if she can call herself a princess anymore, but she’s more of a woman than she is a child, and she will always be a scholar.

What do scholars do? They study.

And she has not studied the experience of being within Goron community in a long time.

“I think I’ll stay,” she says. “Rock roast or not.”

Link looks slightly disappointed, but the look is gone before she can comment on it, replaced with a steady determination. “I’ll stay, too.”

Yunobo hurries back to them, three rock roasts in hand. An alarming amount of steam rises off them, and Zelda panics for the sake of his well-being before she remembers that Gorons are impervious to lava. A little steam can’t hurt them, even if could scorn her skin directly off her body.

Before he can offer them food, Zelda is quick to speak. “Err, Yunobo? Hylians can’t eat rock roast.”

"Wait, they can’t?”

Both Zelda and Link shake their heads. Yunobo’s face falls, but he doesn’t push the issue. He passes off the two rock roasts to other Gorons, who eat their roasts with a vigor that’s a little terrifying to watch.

Link disappears briefly to go find something edible for the two of them, leaving Zelda to be folded into the mass of Gorons. She finds Yunobo’s mop of hair in the crowd and joins him as two other Gorons clap him on the back.

“So when are ya gonna join us in the mines, kid?” one asks, hefting a pickaxe over his shoulder. “I can take you out on a night shift now!”

“Don’t listen to him,” the other says, a groan hiding somewhere in his voice. 

“The northern mine is open again! Even Pyelis got his job back. If you stopped Vah Rudania, then a little work in the mines will be a breeze for you. Got work to do, brother!” He slaps Yunobo’s back, causing him to stumble forward with a small gasp. He tries to pass it off as a laugh, but Zelda sees through the facade.

“Bladon, calm down. It can wait ‘till tomorrow at least,” the other Goron says, making no effort to hide his exasperation. “Besides, it’s the Boss’s call when he goes up, not you. Now let’s go grab some grub before it’s all gone.” 

With one last clap to Yunobo’s back that sends him off-balance again, Bladon shifts his pickaxe and leaves. The other Goron rests a hand on Yunobo’s shoulder and offers him a sympathetic smile before leaving as well.

Yunobo catches Zelda’s eye, and smiles weakly. “Don’t worry about that, goro. I’m fully dedicated to becoming a pilot!”

What Yunobo doesn’t realize is how well she knows that kind of advice. Those Gorons meant well, but there’s something holding Yunobo back that he refuses to say. It’s the same thing that kept him from piloting Vah Rudania today.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she says softly.

“Then what’s the matter? I - I can help!”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing that we need to speak of tonight.”

Before long, Link returns with a plate of curry for her, the smell of it enough to make her mouth water. It’s full of roasted bird and Goron spices, and while the spice burns her mouth, she adores it.

Yunobo leaves the crowd early, and Zelda watches him slip away to his small house. The rest of the city continues to talk, laugh, and eat.

Daruk watches over them, his proud face forever etched into the mountain above.

 

*

 

The following day, as Zelda and Yunobo travel up to Vah Rudania - and leave Link on the path to the Northern Mine to collect lizards and hunt ostriches - she asks him a simple question. While the silence between them is companionable, its not enough to sate her curiosity.

“Bludo is your father, correct?” she asks.

Yunobo’s awkward chuckle is enough to tell her how wrong she is. She feels an embarrassed flush creep up her neck. “Not… really, goro. My dad returned to the earth when I was really little, so Boss took me in instead. He’s kinda like my dad, I guess.”

“Do you ever miss him?” she asks again, careful to keep her voice soft.

“I never really knew my real dad, and since Bludo has always been there for me, it wasn’t a problem.”

They fall into another silence, this one much less companionable than the last. She doesn’t think Yunobo can tell the difference, but it weighs heavily on her like a dense smoke.

How she wishes she could be that carefree - like him, and like Daruk. Even with the weight of destiny bearing down on him, Daruk managed it all with a smile.

When Daruk was trapped within Vah Rudania, who did he miss? His son?

His grandson, who wears his sash in his honor?

Her thoughts inevitably circle back to her father, as they usually do. 

Did he miss her when he lingered here as a spirit? Does she even want to know that answer - could she bear its weight without buckling?

The entire day passes by without any sort of progress. Yunobo insists on learning more before trying to pilot Vah Rudania, claiming that he needs a little more knowledge before putting anything into practice.

She allows it, taking him around its interior yet again, trying to explain anything and everything that comes to mind. Most of the information probably isn’t helpful for him as a pilot, and is very likely incredibly boring for anyone but her or Purah to hear.

She tells him anyways, just in case it may help.

When Yunobo finally does try to pilot it, nothing happens. Vah Rudania refuses his commands, as dormant as the day it was discovered deep in the earth over a century ago.

The trip down leaves them in another awkward silence, one that Zelda is not strong enough to break.

 

*

 

That night, Zelda finds sleep even harder to chase. She’s too exhausted to write or to chronicle more items into the Hyrule Compendium, but she’s never too tired to read. She sorts through the books she has on her person - the majority of them are stored at Link’s house, leaving her with a scant few choices.

There’s always her father’s journal, still burning a hole in the bag she refuses to use.

Zelda gets up and goes outside, greeted by the eternally hot air. It’s a welcome relief to the first chills of winter when she actually thinks about it, but for now, it’s kind of uncomfortable.

She looks around the area. Most Gorons are asleep, including the innkeeper that usually attempts to goad travelers into a Goron massage. There’s a figure off in the distance, an ant compared to the shadow that Daruk’s carving casts over them.

She doesn’t need to see his face to know that it’s Yunobo up there, sleep evading him as well.

At the very least, they can not sleep together.

As Zelda picks her way over the still-scorching rocks, she overhears a conversation from within a Goron home. 

“-I’m telling you brother, it looks  _ exactly _ like her!”

“There’s no way it’s her, Rumor Mill or not. Besides, aren’t Hylians basically copies of their ancestors?”

“No way! You ever see a tiny Hylian?”

“No.”

A groan. “Still! She looks  _ nothing  _ like her dad.”

Zelda freezes. How do they know what her father looks like? 

One of the Gorons echoes her thoughts. “Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

Exasperated, his companion replies, “I’ve seen his statue, which you’d know is right next to hers, if you ever went and visited!”

She knew about her own statue, but she didn’t know that her father had one as well. 

She could visit it this very moment, if she wanted. Poke her head into their home and ask how to get there, since she’s never seen these statues before and has no idea where they could possibly be located.

When she tries to picture her father’s face, all she pictures is the moment she left to Link - him, disappointed and angry with her yet again. She sees the way his eyebrows draw together with a frustration reserved only for her, hears the iron in his voice as he scolds her yet again.

She tries to think of him smiling, but she can’t.

Zelda keeps walking. She finds Yunobo at his spot on the bridge, overlooking the city, and joins him. There’s a part of her that wants to keep the silence and hold it close, cradle it and allow it to constrict around her neck like a python, but something small and bright deep within her fights back.

It must be Hylia, desperate not to let Her daughter fall into such a dark place. Not again.

Somehow, she finds the strength to speak. “It’s awfully late,” she says softly, stopping at his side. He leans on the railing and looks over the city; she mimics his pose.

“I know, goro. I couldn’t sleep.”

“I guess we’re in the same situation, then.”

He looks at her, eyes always wide, always questioning in the way that children so often do. He is so young, young in a way that Riju wasn’t. “Really? Why can’t you sleep?”

His youth is beautiful, an innocence that the worries of the world have yet to rip away. 

“Too many ghosts on my mind,” she says simply, hoping that her answer is enough to keep him from questioning further. Any explanation more elaborate than that still feels too raw for her to explore. 

He frowns at the night air. “I had no idea. You’re always so calm and in control. I didn’t think anything bothered you.”

She laughs softly, nothing more than light amusement buried somewhere in her exhale. “If only that were true.”

Yunobo picks at a splintered piece of wood. He stays silent for so long that Zelda almost thinks of leaving, but he stops her when he asks, “Do you ever get scared?”

His voice is so small, far too tiny for his massive body, far too like a child afraid of being scolded.

“All the time,” she replies.

“But you sealed away the Calamity after facing it for a hundred years all by yourself! What could be scarier than that?”

When set against a phrase like that, her answer feels ridiculous. Yet she knows it is truth.

She feels like she’s on the edge of something impossibly vast, something that dwarfs her and all she’s ever known. 

“Not being who my kingdom needs me to be,” she replies.

But it’s more than that; her statement is a drop in the vast ocean that quietly threatens to swallow her whole. She digs a little deeper within herself.

_ Not being who my father needs me to be. _

“And…” Zelda pauses, swallowing around a sudden lump in her throat, “Letting my father down.”

_ Like I always have. _

There it is.

The void in her mind, the one that she’s carried for so long, finally gives form. It’s the journal that burns a hole into her bag; it’s his scolding voice reprimanding her for shirking her destiny.

It’s the last things he thought while still on this land, and how she’ll never know what they were.

But all she can assume is that if any of his thoughts could be spared towards her, they held the same bitter disappointment that he always had for her actions. 

He must have thought that she had failed.

“Wow... “ Yunobo’s voice drags her from the edge of that void and she snaps her head up to look at him. “I kind of feel the same.”

The grief? 

Wait. No. She didn’t tell him about that; it is still too buried within her, too full of spikes clinging to her insides, to remove.

“About letting someone you love down?”

Yunobo nods, but he looks far from happy. “I helped Link save the city and stop Vah Rudania, and everyone was  _ so proud _ of me. They thought I could do anything, goro! And knowing that Lord Daruk was watching over me made things easier, for a while. I wanted to watch over the city and protect it, like he always protects me.”

He sighs. “But then more Gorons kept asking me when I was gonna start in the mines, and when I was gonna take over Boss’s job. They all think I’m gonna be the best miner since Lord Daruk, but there’s no way, goro. I’m not good enough for that.” He takes a deep breath, and it feels like a secret when he says, “I’m still afraid of the dark.”

“Many people are afraid of the dark,” she says gently.

“Not Gorons! The mines are always dark! What kind of Goron is afraid of the dark? It’s silly!” He bangs his fist on the railing, setting the splinter back into place and causing the entire bridge to shake. Zelda nearly stumbles, but corrects herself at the last moment. Yunobo is too caught up in his own emotions to notice.

Doesn’t he see his own strength? And doesn’t he know that it isn’t a lack of fear that promotes courage, but acting in spite of it?

Somehow, she doesn’t think that will help him.

She can think of something that might. She just hopes that Daruk will forgive her for saying so. “Being afraid of dogs is silly, but Daruk was terrified of them.”

It takes a few moments for Yunobo to fully process what she said, but when he does, she can see the tension melt out of his body. He looks at her, completely and utterly confused.

“I love dogs,” he says, like he’s lost.

“Strange thing for the Goron Champion to be afraid of, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, turning back to look at Daruk’s carved grin. “It really is.”

 

*

 

The torches in Vah Rudania have gone out again. When the door closes behind Zelda and Yunobo - and only the two of them, as Link disappeared off to somewhere that he curiously refused to tell Zelda about - they’re submerged in utter darkness.

Daruk’s Protection glows around Yunobo, and although he trembles, he lets the gentle glow of his barrier guide Zelda around the Divine Beast’s interior and light the torches within.

They make it back to the main control panel, and like the day before, Yunobo is hesitant to approach it. “What if it doesn’t work for me again?” he asks, shooting Zelda a panicked look.

She tries her hardest to exude gentleness itself, smiling in a way that she imagines Hylia would.

_ Except I’ve seen Hylia’s smile, and it’s usually a teasing one _ , she reminds herself.

Even the Goddess Herself cannot escape the perceptions that others clothe Her in.

“Then you try until it does,” she says, giving him an answer much truer to herself. “And you don’t give up.”

He doesn’t.

It takes most of the day, but finally, Vah Rudania comes to life under Yunobo’s stilting, nervous commands.

He grins wider than she’s ever seen a Goron grin, which is saying a lot, and she does her best not to comment on the mistiness in his eyes.

She does, however, take a picture.

 

*

 

Zelda still doesn’t read her father’s journal. She tells herself that she will, once she’s back in the inn and close to the bag that still shields her from it, but there never seems to be a good moment.

Right as she’s about to reach for it, Link appears in the small room they share, hair wet and bringing the waft of Goron soap with him.

She hasn’t seen him since he left that morning, with a smile and a squeeze to her hand that caused electricity to race up and down her spine. 

It’d be so much easier to let him fall into her arms, the way she knows he wants to as he draws closer and drops his things to the ground. There’d be so much less heartbreak if she simply indulged the smile on his face.

It isn’t quite saving her - not this time, and not from what she knows she needs to do.

But he is a welcome distraction, and together, they whittle away the rest of the evening with laughter, stories, and kisses.

She’s lost track of time when they finally decide to go to bed, both having changed into more comfortable clothes to sleep in. She lays next to him, back pressed against his, and listens to his breath slowly even out into a deep rhythm.

It still isn’t enough to lull her to sleep. Her thoughts race in her mind, speeding through with a frantic energy that only worsens the longer she’s left alone with them. She feels her heartbeat echo in her ears, and the only thing she can think of is her father. 

As if commanded, she gets out of bed as carefully as she can, as to not wake Link. She doesn’t need him to know where she’s going - she barely knows the answer to that herself.

Her limbs move stiffly as she changes back into her day clothes, packs a fireproof elixir just in case the one that keeps her safe now wears off, and heads out into the city. Somewhere in the distance, the night shift is hard at work in the mines, but the city is silent save for the sound of her footsteps against the ground. 

She doesn’t know where to go, but somehow, she ends up at the entrance to a cave directly below the city. As if called to it, she goes in. Darkness swallows her whole, but a gentle light comes from the Triforce etched into her hand, giving her just enough light to see.

So this is Hylia’s doing. Zelda isn’t surprised.

She doesn’t have to ask Hylia to know what She is bringing Zelda to.

When the cave path opens up, Zelda knows that she is here.

Urbosa is the one to greet her, one hand ready to snap her fingers and summon her Fury, the other wrapped around her scimitar. Her smirk, intricately carved into her statue, is an exact replica of the one in Zelda’s memories.

She misses her dearly, but she keeps walking.

She spots Revali, wings outstretched and head held high. The rock swirls around him, clearly evoking the wind of his Gale, ready to lift him into the sky at the moment’s notice. Even made of stone, he looks able to take flight at any moment.

If only she knew him better while she had the chance, but now, she mourns what little she knew of him.

Then she sees Mipha, an almost exact replica of the statue that watches over Zora’s Domain. Every detail of her spear is carved to perfection; if it was painted, Zelda would have mistaken it for the Lightscale Trident itself. Despite the weapon, she still looks serene and at peace. Whoever carved this must have respected her deeply.

If Mipha were here, she would try her hardest to heal Zelda’s pain, even the wounds that she couldn’t see.

She was a good friend.

In the center of the room is Daruk, grinning proudly as he hefts the Boulder Breaker over his shoulder. He is everything he was in life: proud, exuberant, strong, joyful.

But he was more than that. Those things gave him strength, but his vulnerabilities made him shine.

He was always so kind to her, and she will never forget that he never stopped believing in her.

She stops in front of his statue, offering him all she really can - a moment of silence. 

But the Triforce on her hand still glows, and she has something else she knows she must see. As if pulled on a string, she keeps walking.

She passes Link, Master Sword in hand and eyes hardened the way they do in the heat of battle. Next to him is her own likeness, standing her ground with her own two feet. She’s wearing her leggings and tunic, and for that detail alone, she is grateful.

In the back of the cave stands the statue she knows she came here for. 

Her first thought upon seeing him, absurd as it is, is how strange his beard looks when rendered in stone.

He is stern and he is absolute, the same way he had been since she began her training. He looks as if the sculptor had deposited Zelda’s own impression of her father onto the stone, leaving her an exact replica of the man who always saw her with such disapproval.

“I fulfilled my destiny, and yet I’m still throwing away everything you held dear,” she murmurs to the statue, knowing that he could never respond. She almost wishes that he could, if only so she could have a confirmation of how little he loved her.

“I know you were a spirit. One hundred years, and you never spared me a single word.”

She looks away. His robes are immaculate, each detail carved with painstaking effort, as if ruffled by the wind even so far underground. “I never chose to be a princess, let alone the princess of prophecy. You chose to be king. You married into royalty. You’d never understand what it feels like, to be chained to a life you never asked for.”

Emotions that she’s held back for so long bubble up to the surface, angry and raw and sawing at her throat like knives as they escape.

“I tried so hard for you! I tried to be what you wanted me to be, what the kingdom needed me to be, and it was never enough! Even now, you must think I’m throwing away everything you worked so hard to maintain. The kingdom, the crown - none of it matters anymore, and yes, it’s my fault! Just like you always thought it would be.”

She’s breathing heavily, air wracking in and out of her lungs as if she’d just climbed a mountain. Her eyes sting with tears, and a few fall as another thought comes to her mind.

It’s one she’s thought of before, rearing its ugly head in those moments when she’s too tired or too alone with her thoughts to keep it at bay. It whispers in her ears, giddy and malicious, a trickster bent on tearing her apart.

_ Were your last thoughts of my failure? _

Something primal within her pounds her fist against his chest. For a moment, she can imagine that it’s actually him, that she’s finally telling him the pains locked deep within her heart and left to fester for an entire century. 

She sobs, the sound echoing in the empty chamber, a chorus of grief bouncing back at her.

Here, she is completely and utterly alone.

Time slips through her fingers, lost to the burning air that chokes her, as she cries. It feels like the years she spent in her imprisonment with Ganon, stretching on without end. 

It’s another wound Ganon inflicted on her, one that’s only grown infected over time.

Eventually, she hears something besides her own hiccuping voice - something that sounds suspiciously like a pair of footsteps. Embarrassment crawls over her spine, leaving her to frantically look around for someplace to hide. She’d never be able to face the Gorons again if one were to find her in this state, eyes puffy from crying in front of a rock carving of her father for who knows how long. 

Before she can figure out where to go, the figure appears in the entryway.

She doesn’t want to look. She really doesn’t.

But she does, and finds Link staring back at her, looking far more understanding than he has any right to be. 

“I thought you’d be here,” he says, voice warm like honeyed milk. 

Her throat closes, making it impossible for any more words to come forth, so she nods instead. He takes it as what it is - a sign to come closer, which he does.

In his hands are not one, but two different journals. She recognizes the one on the top with an iciness that makes her want to crawl the walls just to escape.

“You should read these,” he says, handing them to her before she has a chance to protest.

He’s right, just as he usually is. She takes a deep, steadying breath, though the only thing that helps to calm her is his arm drawing her close to his side. Slowly, he guides her to the ground, until they sit side-by-side at the foot of her father.

In another world, this would have been what she foolishly used to allow herself to dream of: her and her best friend sitting at the foot of her father as he tells them stories.

But in this world, her father is dead, and she is not a child.

Link wraps his arm around her, and she finally opens the first page.

Halfway through the second entry her tears return, staining the pages as she reads. 

She’s sobbing openly by the end, left in a state that almost nothing else has ever drawn out from her.

She mourns in the way that people who do not know how do: with a rawness that tears them open. Her heart pounds with each breath, sending a pain deeper than anything physical through her body. She misses him, just as she’s missed him every single day since he died.

“Why did he never try to speak to me?” she asks, although she doesn’t expect Link to have the answer.

Wordlessly, he hands her another journal, and she reads through it as well. There’s no title on this one, and the smooth cover tells her that it was never meant to have one. Within it are pages and pages of her father’s handwriting, making his identity immediately clear to her. 

The lighthearted entries, the ones about the food and the weather, make her laugh in a way that he had stopped drawing out of her when her mother died.

The final entry makes her cry yet again. 

Even after a century as a spirit, she was still his precious daughter.

“He didn’t write it here, but after I met him and he told me about you, all I could wonder was why he seemed so full of guilt. He said your name so sadly, sadder than I thought was possible for a person to sound. I wondered what could have possibly happened to make him that way, and I knew I had to find out.”

“But I thought -” Zelda hiccups, choking back another sob, “-I thought it was his love for me that inspired you to start looking.”  _Although I never believed you before_ , she adds in her own mind.

“Love is the only reason why he would have sounded that way,” Link responds.

Sometimes, he is the wisest person she knows. She wonders, almost deliriously, if he was meant to be the one associated with Wisdom, not her.

“He never saw you the way you thought he did, Zelda.” He looks away from her. “He really loved you.”

“It isn’t fair,” Zelda says.

“It never is.”

There are no more words left for her to say, because some hurts can never be explained with words.  It is something that she will always carry, until her own spirit finally leaves this land. 

They stay like that, side by side, sharing each other’s warmth even in the hot air, until time seems like a far-away thought.


	11. Tarrey Town (welcome to your brand-new life)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's still one chapter left after this friends!

_ The sun rises over the edge of Tarrey Town, casting the bare trees of the Akkala Plains in harsh shadows that streak across the ground. They look almost like skeletons, bony branches twisting in the air, but the winds of winter do not always bring death. _

_ What they often bring, time and time again, is rebirth. _

 

*

  
  


Winter has stripped Akkala of its color, leaving the trees barren and the grass below Zelda’s boots a dusty brown. It doesn’t get cold enough here to snow, but it does get cold enough for the wind to bite through her tunic and leave her shivering. 

The Snowquill Headdress is braided into her hair yet again, feathers resting over the tops of her ears, but even the magical warmth of the rubies cannot protect her from the howling wind.

Link, she notes with a small amount of envy, is protected from its bites by the hood he has drawn over his face. She insisted that he wear it instead of her, but the selfish part of her regrets that decision.

At least it isn’t long until Tarrey Town, according to the map on the Sheikah Slate. They left the horses back at the last stable they passed, as there isn’t much room for them to graze there.

Besides, Zelda kind of wanted to walk.

At this point, they’ve seen just about all of Hyrule. She hasn’t seen every stable, and her visit to Lurelin Village was restricted to a single day back in summer that was mostly spent watching how deftly the villagers speared the crabs that ran along the shore, but it’s been enough for this journey. As dearly as she loves experiencing the world around her, it would be nice to have the same bed to return to each night.

Link’s presence makes it easier, and while he’s still content to wander the countryside, she isn’t quite made for the wild like he is. Besides, her journals would be so much fuller if she was able to sit and write, rather than wait until they make camp or find a stable to stay at before starting.

There’s still so much to chronicle - several lifetime’s worth of stories to write down. It could very well take her the rest of her life to archive everything.

Somehow, that doesn’t sound so bad.

Link points to a tall signpost, growing ever taller and more detailed the closer they get to it. “There it is,” he says fondly. “Tarrey Town.”

She’s heard so much of this place. Or at least, she’s heard Link’s countless insistences that she needs to visit it, and how much she’ll love it.  She doesn’t understand what exactly makes this place so special, but she’s excited to see it.

The sign that marks Tarrey Town’s name hangs over the path into town, carved into wood and covered with a lush brown paint that has yet to be worn down by time. It must have been made within the past year, if not the past few months. 

What shocks her the most is how  _ small _ the town is. It’s centered around a single plaza, where a lone Goddess statue sits in the middle, eyes closed and smiling in a way that almost feels like a blessing. Maybe Hylia had planned for this town to be built here all along.

“When I first came here, before Hudson started building, that statue was the only thing here,” Link explains as they enter the town. “Now look at it,” he adds, grinning at his surroundings. His love for this place bleeds through his clothes and into her. She finds herself smiling as well.

Though small, it is certainly a lively place. Merchants from every race stand behind tables, and upon noticing them, all call Link’s name is a chorus of greetings. Link responds with a wave before looking to Zelda.  She tries to take it all in - the merchants peddling their wares, the strange, boxy houses that line the perimeter of the town, and the other people walking in the plaza.  She spots a Gerudo, an older Hylian man holding the hand of a little girl - his daughter, Zelda presumes - and a girl about her age with long white hair and red markings on her face.

Wait.

“Paya!” Zelda says, running over to meet her. Naturally, Zelda’s voice shocks the poor girl, and she jumps at the sound. A visible tremor runs through Paya’s body and she looks around wildly before finally settling on Zelda. 

“Z-Zelda!?” she stammers, her face quickly growing red. “And Master Link! I didn’t expect you to be here!”

“We just arrived,” Zelda explains, careful not to get too close and give her a heart attack. It must be the sheer shock that’s making her so jumpy, since Paya seemed to finally be growing comfortable around her when it was time for them to part ways.

At least, she hopes that’s the case.

“A-as did I,” Paya says, her voice still shaking. At least she isn’t hiding her face in her hands, like Zelda had almost expected her to. “Grandmother asked me to visit this town and give her a report on it. She’s incredibly curious about what it’s like here.”

While that certainly seems true, Zelda can also imagine Impa grumbling about how her sheltered granddaughter needs to go out and experience the world. “Is this your first time visiting somewhere outside of Kakariko or Hateno?”

“Yes. I’ve never been this far north before. It’s so different.”

Zelda smiles. “That it is.”

After a moment’s silence, some strange realization settles over Paya, causing her to gasp loudly. “You haven’t gone to the inn yet, have you?”

“No?”

“I-I insist that you go now! You must have been traveling in the cold for so long. You and Master Link need to rest!” If Paya were anyone else, her sheer insistence would have led her to grab Zelda’s hand and drag her over to the inn.

But Paya is no one but herself, and while the thought visibly crosses her mind and causes her to turn red, she merely gestures towards the inn and stumbles over an offer to take Zelda there.

She has a point. At least within the town all the houses clustered so close together keeps some of the fiercer cold winds out, but her nose is numb from the cold and her face stings from having the wind whipping at it for so long. 

Zelda looks back at Link, who nods his assent. “Very well,” Zelda says, turning to Paya. “It would be nice to rest for a little while.”

Paya nods, clearly trying to hide her joy at the chance to help them. It seems that her little crush has done everything  _ but  _ fade. What would she say if she knew about Zelda and Link’s current relationship? Would she be saddened? 

Realistically, she would probably pass out. From what, though, is the question.

The innkeeper is an elderly Zora who recognizes Zelda, given the way his eyes widen at the sight of her. “Princess Zelda! So the rumors are true…” he says, bowing to her as she walks in.

The sight is only stranger and more uncomfortable now. “Please, just call me Zelda,” she says. “Though I apologize, have we met before?” He looks familiar, but with the way age changes Zora features, she can’t quite place a name to his face.

  
“My apologies. My name is Kapson. We met a century before, when I was still a young Zora, but I’m not surprised that you don’t remember me.”

Zelda shakes her head. The name is familiar enough for her to finally put a face and a few details to it. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I do remember you - you were the only Zora priest, correct? You had just received the title right before…”

“The Calamity, Princess,” he finishes for her. The title feels like spiders crawling over her skin, and she forces herself to suppress a shudder that threatens to creep over her as well.

It feels as if Zelda’s breath has been knocked from her chest. “Oh.”

“I’ve been able to marry several couples since then, the most recent one being Hudson and Rhondson,” he muses, able to move past such a massively horrible event with such ease.

But, as she reminds herself, it has been a century since it occurred. Not only that, but they’ve had months of peace now.

The time to rest has come, in more way than one. 

Kapson’s inn, while small, is thankfully big enough to have its own private rooms. Zelda and Link elect to take one together, and while Paya visibly blushes at the ease to which Link accepts the key, Zelda isn’t sure that the implications are fully visible to her quite yet. It isn’t strange for them to request a room together, given how they only travel with each other. In such a small space, it makes sense to take only one room instead of two.

In reality, it’s more because they like to keep each other close at night, even when sleep remains far away.

They unload their bags into the room. As nice as taking a nap may be, Zelda can at least put her feet to rest in a more public part of the inn and see who else has decided to stay here besides Paya. Link agrees - or rather, Link is fairly impartial either way.

The inn has a lounge of sorts, tucked into the back area and adjacent to the kitchen. There are a few couches and chairs to sit on, and while the couches are clearly from Hateno, the chairs are made with pearlescent stone and smooth lines that suggests a more aquatic origin. They should look out of place, but all Zelda can think is how beautiful they are. 

For the most part, she expects the lounge to be empty. What she sees instead are three familiar figures; one sitting in a Zora chair, and the other lounging on one of the couches, and the third being Paya.

“Bolson! Karson!” she says, rushing over to them, Link on her heels. “I didn’t expect to see you here!”

“My dear, we didn’t expect to see you two here,” Bolson says. “Seems that Hylia has more adventures in store for us.”

“Have you seen Hudson’s daughter yet?” Karson asks.

“Not yet,” Zelda replies. “We just arrived.”

“You’ve got to see her! She’s adorable,’” he says.

Paya shifts in her chair. “U-um, excuse me, but are you talking about a baby?” she asks.

“Yeah!”

She brightens. “I love babies,” she says with a sigh. “But I haven’t seen one in years, not since the children in my village grew older.”

“You’d love Madison then,” Karson says. “C’mon, I can introduce you to Hudson and see if he’ll let you play with her!”

“That would be wonderful,” Paya says quickly, getting to her feet. Impa once swore that Paya was just as deadly as any other Sheikah, but the clumsy way she gets to her feet reminds Zelda more of a day-old fawn than it does a seasoned warrior.

Still, she follows Karson out of the inn with an energy that Zelda has only seen from her in passing. It warms her heart.

“Seems that Karson’s made a new friend,” Bolson comments once it’s clear that the two have left the inn. “What about you? Any updates to your relationship status?” At that, he gives Link a pointed look.

Link, of course, doesn’t catch on.

Zelda slips her hand into his and smiles at Link’s confused expression. They don’t usually show affection in front of others, save for those small, casual touches that speak of an intimacy far greater than any sweeping romantic gesture ever could. This, while related to the former, was definitely closer to the latter. “Yes, there has been.”

Bolson doesn’t smile, but there’s something akin to pride in his eyes. “Ah, young love. Makes me believe in the good of the world again,” he says, wistful and musical.

That’s when Link finally catches on. He looks between Zelda and Bolson, before finally asking Bolson, “You knew?”

Bolson laughs. “Boy, you couldn’t have hid how crazy you were for her even if you tried. I always knew you had someone special waiting for you, given that look you always had whenever I mentioned it. But after meeting her? Nothing in the world was more obvious than how much you loved her.”

It’s embarrassing to hear - embarrassing enough that Zelda has to fight down the heat threatening to bloom on her face. Despite that, it makes something small and warm glow deep in her.

“I’m happy for both of you. Now, if only I could find a love that pure!”

“You will one day,” Zelda says. “I’m certain of it.”

Because here, in this Hyrule, there’s hope for everyone’s happiness.

 

*

 

Of course, not everyone in Tarrey Town is as nice as Kapson, Bolson, and Paya.

There’s Hagie, the self-centered rich Hylian that Zelda remembers Link telling her about. The one who paid Link to fight two Guardians for his own amusement, only to offer a poor compensation after the deed was done. 

One hundred and twenty rupees was not worth the stress of fighting one stationary Guardian, let alone two separate Guardian Stalkers. 

There’s his daughter Hunnie, who has enough wealth to be picky about anything and everything that crosses her path. She’s blunt to the point of being rude, but young enough for Zelda not to take it personally. 

Strangely enough, the girl’s mother is an absolute sweetheart, with kind eyes and the first wrinkles of old age gathering in her smile lines.

Pelison is a young Goron and one of the town’s merchants, specializing in precious metals. He has a curt manner, and while he lacks the warmth many Gorons (his brother included) tend to have, he isn’t rude.

Even this young, he is entirely business oriented.

She’s still yet to see Hudson, Rhondson, or their famed daughter, but the sight of a Sheikah stops Zelda in her tracks. Link is off bartering with the Rito Fyson, leaving Zelda on her own.

It’s so rare to see Sheikah outside the village, and while she knows she’s never met him before, something in his face seems familiar. His hair color is incredibly rare as well, not unfamiliar.

That’s when it hits her - he looks shockingly similar to Robbie in his youth. She sees it in his eyes and in the slope of his mouth.

He looks utterly bored, but that doesn’t deter her. “Hello,” she says, stopping at his side.

He gives her an unimpressed look. “Wanna buy something?”

Zelda shakes her head. “I was hoping to introduce myself to you. My name is Zelda.”

“Grant é ,” he grunts, looking at her from underneath the fringe that covers half his face. “You’re that princess my dad always went on about. Rumor Mill said you were back.”

“I am indeed.”

“Huh.” Grant é looks off into the distance. “How’s it feel?”

“It’s certainly been a journey.”

“I bet.”

Zelda thinks about pursuing the conversation further, but Granté continues to thoroughly unimpressed so she bids him farewell, knowing that she’ll see him again soon.

After all, there aren’t many places to go in this town.

 

*

 

The town doesn’t always share meals together, but once a week, everyone gathers for a communal meal. The atmosphere is lively as the small town buzzes with life. People scurry through the plaza, carrying giant pots and heaps of vegetables in baskets as they try to figure out who is donating their kitchen for the bulk of the cooking that night.

It reminds Zelda of Outskirt Stable and the rag-tag family that was formed there, and how for a small while she was able to be part of it as well. 

The meal, as Zelda discovers, is an eclectic mix of nearly every cuisine Hyrule has to offer. Mugs of steaming voltfruit cider, a Gerudo drink typically enjoyed in the winter, sit upon a table carved from rock in a distinct Goron style. Kapson, flanked by an elderly Hylian couple, bring out plates of freshly cut trout on a bed of Hylian herbs. Fyson, the Rito merchant, hums a Rito song under his breath as he sets down a loaf of bread that carries the distinct smell of Tabantha wheat.

There’s a seat for every single person in town here, and a few more are brought out of houses to accommodate the guests. Zelda spots a Gerudo woman come out of one of the houses and take a seat at the far end of the table. Moments later, a Hylian man with a massively impressive bowl cut sits next to her. Karson trails after them, a baby girl swaddled in Gerudo blankets in his arms.

She has the distinct facial features of a Gerudo, but her light skin and long ears suggest Hylian blood as well. This must be the Madison Zelda’s heard so much about. She’s adorable, full of giggles and grasping onto Karson’s finger like she’s a queen and he’s her servant.

Given the way Karson coos baby talk at her, she probably is. 

When every seat is filled and every plate of food and drink is set on the table, Bolson speaks up. “Well Hudson? Are you going to give us a toast?”

Hudson clears his throat. “You got it, Boss.” He stands up, and in his strangely monotone voice, says, “Hey everyone, welcome to Tarrey Town. The Bolson Construction Company built this place, and it’s been thriving thanks to you all. Every resident pitched in to make this food, so I hope you like it. Eat up.”

With that, he sits down next to his wife, who looks at him proudly. She claps a few times, and the sound prompts Karson to rearrange the baby in his arms so he can enthusiastically applaud Hudson.

Zelda, unable to keep her laughter at bay, claps as well.

The food is delicious, to say the least. Link takes enough to feed five people on his own, filling his plate with every dish offered over and over again. The Goron brothers, who stick primarily to rock roasts, admire his dedication to packing food away. Paya nearly faints from worry, convinced that Link’s going to gorge himself to the point of sickness, while Bolson simply reaches over and claps him on the back. 

Granté mutters something about making a dessert from syrup to Ruli, Hunnie’s mother, who seems enthralled by the idea. Fyson shares a complaining anecdote about his mother to the elderly couple next to him, who both berate him for disrespecting his parents. 

Rhondson notices a small tear in Zelda’s tunic, even from the other side of the table, and offers to patch it up for her. Zelda nods eagerly, her mouth too full of fish to respond properly.

Voices fill the air, and when the night chill starts to creep in, Hudson and Karson surround the table with standing lanterns that Link and Zelda light with fire arrows. The warmth from the flames is enough to keep everyone comfortable, long after the sun has dipped below the horizon and the winter night settles in.

It’s so similar to the days she spent at Outskirt Stable, but it also makes her think of all the hospitality she received everywhere she went throughout Hyrule. Time and time again, communities opened themselves to her, receiving her as not simply a guest, but as a friend.

While small and fragile, there is something beautiful here. Zelda wishes with all of her heart to keep it safe.

 

*

 

As Zelda quickly learns, Tarrey Town is not without conflict. Unlike the other permanent settlements across Hyrule - which have had generations to develop shared idiosyncrasies - and unlike the stables - whose populations ebb and flow with the seasons - the residents of Tarrey Town are still learning how to live with each other.

It’s apparent the day following their shared dinner, when she sees Kapson and Fyson arguing over whether or not the inn or the general store should be expanded first. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you old fish! I don’t even  _ have _ a building for my goods yet. What about when it starts snowing? Where will you buy down for your comforters then?”

“It doesn’t get cold enough to snow in this part of Hyrule. You kids always think you know everything about everywhere, but had you ever left Hebra before moving here?”

“That’s not the point!”

“The point is that more travelers are on the road these days, which means more people will pass through here, and without a bigger in we’ll have to turn them away. How will your store fare then, hmm?”

Rhondson, who walks through the plaza with heaps of fabric balanced in her arms, stops when she hears this argument. “Again?” she groans.

“Tell him off, Rhondson,” Fyson says.

Zelda doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but her curiosity wins over her desire to be polite. She deliberately slows her pace until she’s barely moving at all and still well within earshot of the conversation.

She doesn’t know anything about the structure of leadership here. Everywhere else in Hyrule has a definite leader, regardless of whatever particular title they may wear. She figures that Hudson and Rhondson must be the leaders, since from what she understands of the town’s history, Hudson was the one to first create it.

But Rhondson, rather than solving the issue for them, groans again. “That’s it. Since you two can’t figure out this yourselves, we’ll take it to council to vote on.”

“But that’ll take forever!” Fyson says.

“Well you two have been arguing for forever,” Rhondson replies. “I’ll talk to the others and see if we can set a meeting for tomorrow.”

Fyson and Kapson both look incredibly displeased, but the way their argument ends tells her that they know better than to protest further. Rhondson turns on her heel and leaves, shifting the bundle of fabric in her arms.

Zelda hurries after her, trying her best to fall into step at her side. Gerudo have much longer legs than she, and a Gerudo that has somewhere to be is a Gerudo that is nearly impossible to keep up with. 

“Zelda, right?” Rhondson says, sparing her a glance.

Zelda nods. “I was actually hoping to ask you about what you mentioned back there. What did you mean by taking an issue to council? What is that?”

“We don’t have a specific leader - and no, Hudson is  _ far _ from being our town’s leader, since I see that question written all over your face. Once the town was up and running, we realized we needed to make decisions that would impact everyone, but no one had the right to make a decision by themselves. So we made a council - it’s kind of like how Chief Riju or King Dorephan have a team of advisors, except without a ruler to get the last say.”

“I see,” Zelda says. She had read about forms of government similar to that existing long ago, but many of those records were lost to time. Certainly no one in her lifespan, either then or now, lived during a time where everyone had an equal say.

Well, she supposes that she  _ does _ live in that time now. “Does it work?” Zelda asks.

Rhondson sighs. “It can be cumbersome, I’ll admit. Every adult in town sits on it, and that many opinions can make it hard even to get a majority vote on just about anything.”

“Is it effective?”

“It gets done what needs to be done.” After a moment’s pause, some sort of idea dawns on Rhondson. “Do you wanna sit in tomorrow? I doubt anyone would mind.”

It would probably be similar to the advisor’s meetings she had eavesdropped on a few times within the castle, during the moments when she was so exhausted of prayer that her knees throbbed with every step. Their voices would drone on and on, bouncing off the walls with arguments of taxes and new policies to implement.

It was interesting enough, Zelda supposes. Nothing nearly as thrilling as her own research, but not as soul-numbingly boring as she would have expected. 

Seeing how it works now, after being so far removed from royalty, would be fascinating.

 

*

 

The next day Zelda finds herself inside of Rhondson’s house, seated at a large table that almost every resident of Tarrey Town sits at. She can hear Link and Karson’s voices - not words, just unintelligible shouts - from the other room as they keep an eye on Madison so her parents can join the meeting.

The table is massive and rounded - an intentional choice, given the way people seem to gravitate away from the very ends. Hudson and Rhondson, along with almost everyone else in the town whose name ends in -son, has a seat, as well as Ruli and an older man originally from Lurelin Village named Moggs.

Zelda glances over at Paya in an attempt to meet her look, only for Paya to quickly examine her hands clenched in her lap. She shifts and dares to peek at Zelda, nearly squeaking when Zelda tries to smile at her.

Zelda will wear that girl down one day. She isn’t as bad as she used to be, but as Zelda has quickly learned, Paya has to essentially mentally prepare herself before practically any interaction with her.

It’s endearing, if a little tiresome. 

“I-I’m excited to hear this,” Paya says, and Zelda quietly celebrates at how she felt comfortable enough to speak without Zelda’s prompting. “Grandmother said it’s important for me to understand how other towns are run.”

And how different this setup is! Kakariko is mostly autonomous, although with the singular goal of protecting the royal family. Decisions about the village itself are not often considered, and when they are, it’s usually up to the village’s leader to make a final decision. Even if they have advisors, the power still rests with them.

Like a mini monarchy, although the passage of leadership down the matrilineage is not coded in law, merely tradition.

Paya herself knows that she will be the new village head soon. Is she ready for that? Is she afraid of living up to her grandmother’s legacy?

How will she run her village without a queen to protect - and more importantly, how will Paya react to the news? Will Zelda even be able to voice that thought to her, whenever they have that conversation? 

Those thoughts race in Zelda’s mind, but the panic that used to accompany her so often is gone, replaced by a calm serenity. It is not the empty calm, the serenity of loss and fierce hope that drove her forward a century ago, but something fuller, something a little less edged with sadness.

It is something that is entirely hers to keep.

The meeting is called to order. Ruli is the one to call it to action, something that surprises Zelda. She expected Hudson or Rhondson to, but both of them sit in silence as Ruli reiterates the overall purpose of the meeting.

Fyson and Kapson are each given a few minutes to present their side of the argument, and why their specific good should be focused on first. They each bring up valid points, but neither have a strong enough case to discredit the other’s.

So the council begins to discuss.

And discuss.

...And discuss.

Zelda’s never sat in a meeting for this ridiculously long, and she has to draw upon her old training just to be able to endure it. Paya manages to make it through as well, which isn’t surprising considering the rigorous devotions Zelda saw her put herself through at Kakariko. If she can spend four hours cleaning half of the floor of her grandmother’s house, she can definitely handle this. 

The content of their debates isn’t of much importance, but the way every person’s opinion is equally valued is. Even when they get upset and argue over each other - something that happens far too frequently for Zelda’s comfort - there’s someone else to bring everyone back down to reality.

Eventually, they come to a decision. 

“I’m ready to vote,” Hudson says, followed by a chorus of agreement. “Cool. Who’s in favor of Kapson expanding the inn first?”

A few hands go up.

“And Fyson getting a building first?”

The majority of hands go up. Pelison - of all the people here! - counts the number of hands and announces, “Seems like Fyson’s getting his building first.”

Kapson sinks back in his chair with a huff, grumbling something under his breath that Zelda knows can’t be positive. Fyson is elated, for whatever amount of elation that counts for someone as usually reserved as him.

He doesn’t cheer, but he can’t seem to stop grinning. The sight warm’s Zelda’s heart.

“Any other business?” Greyson asks. When no one speaks up, he continues. “Then we’re done here.”

All at once, a chorus of chair legs scraping across the ground fill the air as everyone stands up. Paya and Zelda are two of the last people to stand up, and each takes a moment to stretch out her stiff muscles. Zelda’s hand drifts towards the Sheikah Slate out of some compulsive need to check the time, but she forces herself to still.

“That was interesting,” Paya comments, though the way she says it suggests that  _ long _ may be a better synonym than interesting in this case.

 

*

 

Thoughts of the council meeting follow Zelda well into the evening. There was no clear leader, and yet everyone seemed to be fine with that. She didn’t have the power to vote, seeing as she wasn’t actually a member of the town, but they still gave her a seat of her own.

It fills her with a hesitant kind of hope. They’re all leaders, just as they are equally merchants and architects and tailors and parents. They can wear both mantles, because it isn’t so hauntingly heavy when shared by so many. 

Zelda can’t be queen. She doesn’t  _ want _ to be queen, just as she never wanted to be the princess of prophecy. Her responsibility to her kingdom, to her people, to her knight, and to Hylia Herself propelled her forward throughout her life, chasing a goal that always felt so out of reach.

But the prophecy is fulfilled, and the mark on her hand will never leave. At the same time, it’s a promise of a future untied to Ganon and its evil.

The weight of the crown is too heavy for her, and in this age, she finally allows herself to think that she doesn’t have to be crushed under it.

She can be a leader without being a queen. A leader, a scholar, a historian - she can be all of those things, and so much more.

_ Maybe that’s what Hyrule needs - how I can make it a better land than before. _

She thinks that to herself as she sits alone in the room she and Link share within Kapson’s inn, allowing it to settle within her like the calm that comes after the last rains of a terrible storm. It goes against everything she was raised to believe, but she is no longer as scared as she once was.

She thinks of her mother, and of the Gerudo who would have pledged all her life to her if not for the crown upon her head. She thinks of her father, and how he would have simply wanted Zelda to be happy, knowing that he chose the burden of ruling for himself.

Link needs to know. Their future has always been an uncertain one, always pushed off to the next day, but those days are running thin. Their journey is coming to an end, and he needs to know what comes next. If she had wanted to, he would have followed her to the castle.

But that castle isn’t a home for either of them. No, their home is so much bigger, so much freer.

His home is that little house in Hateno, but it’s more than that. It’s the hillsides of Salufa Hill, the fields of Tabantha, the lakes of Faron, and everywhere in-between. His home is the grass under his boots and the wind ruffling his hair.

And in many ways, that’s her home, too, just as her home is the journal in her bag and the Slate on her hip.

Link comes in about an hour later, prompting Zelda to look up from the description of the old Akkala Citadel that covers the pages of her journal. She closes it, hooks her pen over the edge, and sets it down on the table so she can better greet him.

“Can we talk?” Zelda asks. Link, the excellent man that he is, nods, and drops into the seat across from her, concern written into his expression.

It’s finally time for her to voice all those thoughts that have taken residence within her mind and give them the power they deserve. Some things only become real after having been spoken into existence, and she feels that this is one of them. 

She takes a deep breath. “I’ve decided something. I’m not going to rebuild the castle.”

Link nods, though she can tell that he’s confused. “Yeah…? I thought you already settled that.”

“There’s more. I.” She swallows around a sudden lump in her throat. What was the saying people used to have? That it was a hot-footed frog in her throat?

It doesn’t matter. She forces herself back to the matter at hand. “I’m not going to be queen, either.”

That catches his attention. What she expects is for him to be shocked - for his jaw to drop open, his eyes to bulge out of his head, anything that would show a measure of surprise. 

He doesn’t do any of that. A ghost of a smile crosses his lips and he looks at her warmly. “I had been hoping for you to say that.”

The shock she expected him to feel transfers to her, as she goes through the same motions she thought he would have. He always, always knows her so well! “H-how did you know?”

“You were never happy as a princess. What would make being a queen any different?”

It’s a good point, one that she has considered multiple times. He continues on. “You know that I’m gonna support you no matter what you choose, right?”

She knows that too, but hearing it spoken aloud really does give it a different kind of power, one that sends a pleasant shiver all down her spine. “I know.”

“What about rebuilding Hyrule, though?”

Zelda gestures to the room they sit in. “Look at this town. They don’t have a leader, and yet they’ve grown so much, even in the midst of the Calamity! Not a single other town has been founded in the past century.  _ This _ is what a rebuilt Hyrule is, Link! I don’t have to be a queen here. I can simply be Zelda.”

_ And you can simply be Link, the man who keeps a part of himself in the wild. _

He grins when he says, “ _ Now _ do you see why I wanted you to come here so badly?”

“I do. Thank you.”

There are so many other things she could say, so many things to discuss about how they’ll move forward, but the silence is too precious for her to break. They both smile down at their hands, letting the implications of this decision settle over them like a fine mist.

Link wouldn’t leave her to linger in that castle alone. He would have hated it, but for her sake, he has endured far worse than a lifetime in the lap of luxury. He has never been a leader, nor does he want that weight on his shoulders. This way, he can be free as well.

Destiny cannot tear them apart. Not this time.

As long as that little house in Hateno has room for another person to fill it with life, and as long as his campfire is large enough for two people to sit around, she will remain.

 

*

 

As Link reminds her, after the mist fades and they’re brought back to a reality much bigger than the two of them, she cannot keep her decision to herself. 

This choice - the choice not to rebuild the monarchy, to step down from the throne and live amongst her people - affects many more people than simply her. The average townsperson may not know what it means to have a queen, but the Sheikah have dedicated generations of their lives to the crown’s continued survival.

Generations of Sheikah have given their lives for her sake. Many others have forsaken their very people because they didn’t believe in her.

Maybe the Yiga were right, that Zelda was destined to bring nothing but destruction to Hyrule.

_ But _ , she reminds herself,  _ This isn’t destruction. It’s renewal. _

Eventually, she’ll have to tell Impa, Purah, and Robbie. The scientists will most likely adapt to her decision the same way they adapt to everything in their lives - with countless questions and a promise that she’ll find a way to fund their research.

She isn’t so certain of Impa’s reaction. She hopes that as shocked as she might be, it won’t be the sense of betrayal Zelda has been so afraid to inspire in others. To let down one of her dearest friends after she spent her life hoping for Zelda to finally return would break her own heart just as badly as it would break Impa’s.

Link is quick to remind her that Impa may not have the study habits of her older sister, but she’s just as brilliant. Her brilliance simply manifests itself in different ways. She may understand; she may even have expected something like this.

Those conversations will come with time. For now, there’s someone else that needs to hear her words just as badly.

Paya also spent her life waiting for Zelda’s return, after all. She dedicates her life to her people, who dedicate their life to her. She’s another knight, just like Link, but one who wears her armor with pride.

In a way, Paya’s future - and the future of the Sheikah’s relationship with Zelda and her own descendants - is intertwined with Zelda’s.

She has to tell her.

She finds Paya the following morning, sitting at the very edge of Tarrey Town. The large cloak wrapped around her shoulders stares back at Zelda with the lone red eye painted on the back, clearly marking it as a Sheikah-specific garb. Zelda remembers seeing similar cloaks in the wintertime a century prior.

Once upon a time, it would have been comforting to see something so familiar to her. Now, it only makes her feel strange. Not bad, but strange.

At the sound of Zelda’s approaching footsteps, Paya twists to face her. The glare from the morning sun is harsh enough to cast her face in a sharp glare, but the squeak that escapes her gives Zelda all the information she needs about her reaction.

Zelda walks slowly, feeling herself dip to the ground in a half-crouch, as if comforting a wounded animal.

“Z-Zelda!” Paya says. “G-good morning!”

“I was hoping I’d find you here,” Zelda says, not needing to see Paya’s face to know the blush that must be spreading across it.

_ That’s another thing that hasn’t exactly changed, _ Zelda notes with a hint of amusement. 

“A-ah, yes. I wanted to watch the sunset,” Paya explains. “The view is lovely from here.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“No! Not at all!” Paya blurts, hastily scooting over to make room for Zelda. She sits down next to Paya and draws her own cloak tighter around herself, trying to block out the chilly wind now that she’s no longer standing under the guard of the town’s houses. 

The trees of Akkala, usually so full of color, look like skeletons dancing over their own graves without their leaves to cover them. It would be a somber thought, if not for the reassurance that the land will be covered in a lively green come spring. Such is nature; life comes, and life goes, only for new life to spring up in its place.

Evil comes, but there are always two forces of good there to meet it. Such is the nature of their own lives.

And here Paya is, another in the long lines of the protectors meant to guard the royal family. She’s part of this cycle too, even if she isn’t mentioned in the legends. Her life has been shaped from their scaffolding just as much.

Zelda decides to simply say it. “I’m relinquishing the crown,” she announces, not as an offer or a suggestion but a simple fact.

Simple or not, it’s a statement that goes against the very fabric Paya’s life was built upon, and it clearly takes her a few moments to process what Zelda just said. When she does, realization settles over her face in something that looks incredibly close to horror. She seems to struggle just to ask Zelda in a small voice, “What?”

It’s that, more than anything else Paya could have possibly said, that robs her of her courage. She feels like she’s drowning in her own mind, every explanation and thought she’s had that led her to this point sounding like nothing but cheap excuses.

Still, she takes what she can find, and clings to it with all her strength. 

“I’ve traveled to nearly every part of this new Hyrule, and it is no longer the land that my father ruled. These people - our people - don’t need a monarch like they used to. No Hylian knows what it means to have a royal family anymore, and I for one have no desire to teach them!”

Paya’s horror slowly fades. Zelda takes that as a sign to continue, and as she does, her own voice grows gentler.

“This town doesn’t even have a single ruler, and yet it’s the only town that has grown in population since the Calamity in all of Hyrule. Every other land is either in ruins or a shade of its former self. You’ve seen it too, both here and in the stories I know Impa has told you about what Kakariko and Hateno used to be like. I think that this is how I can make Hyrule into a better land than it was - not by rebuilding that horrid castle, but by uniting its people and giving everyone a seat at the table.

Zelda says, and with a small bit of shame still clinging to her, adds one more thing. “Plus, I never wanted to rule anyways. I don’t want to be the princess any longer. I can be a scholar and a leader. I can simply be  _ me _ .”

Paya nods down at her hands, each clenched into fists so tightly that her knuckles have turned white. “I understand your reasoning, Zelda, I-I swear I do. But… what about me? What about my people? The Sheikah have been serving the crown for as long as either has existed. I-If I’m supposed to take over as head of the Sheikah, then what will happen to me when I no longer have a princess to protect?”

Zelda takes a chance and rests her hand on Paya’s shoulder, hoping to offer whatever small amount of comfort she can. To her own private joy, Paya does not pull away. 

“I think the Sheikah are more than just guards for the royal family. They were the first to dedicate themselves to Hylia Herself, correct?”

Paya nods.

“That duty does not have to change if you don’t want it to,” Zelda reminds her gently. “It was never about the crown. It was about Hylia and safeguarding the power She gave my ancestors.”

After that, Paya goes silent. The wind ruffles their cloaks, the sound doing nothing to dampen the growing sense of guilt that gnaws at her heart. She spent so long trying to reach this point, only for it to end in her disappointing someone she cares about yet again.

She thinks of what it would be like to take on the mantle of royalty, to spend her days inside that cage of a castle, and knows that this is the better alternative. Some birds were never meant to be caged.

She doesn’t particularly need the protection of the Sheikah, not anymore, but she’ll always need their companionship. 

“This is scary,” Is what Paya eventually says, knees drawn up to her chest.

“It is.”

“What will happen next? Where will you go? What will you do? W-what will our lives look like in the future - by the time spring comes? Is this really the right thing to do?”

“I don’t know,” Zelda says, “But I don’t need to know, and neither do you.”

All she knows is that there’s a little house in Hateno Village waiting for her and her dearest friend.

Paya lapses back into another silence, but this one doesn’t drag across Zelda’s skin the way the last one did. They watch the sunrise, moving forward with the same quiet determination that it did day in and day out. It never changes, even when hidden behind the clouds.

Zelda takes out the Sheikah Slate and takes a picture of it. One last time.

Eventually, as Tarrey Town begins to stir to life behind them, Paya speaks. “I-I trust you, Zelda. Crown or not, I-I’ll support you. I promise.”

And those simple words are enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire fic has been building up to this chapter, because this ending is...well. Pretty different from a lot of other long post-canon fics!!! I tried to sculpt it in a way that made Zelda's choices in the end make sense given what she believes. If you also think Zelda's choice to give up the crown makes sense for her too given everything she's seen and thought in this fic, then I've done what I set out to do.
> 
> On a different note, this fic was supposed to be Zelda/Link, but honestly Zelda/Paya/Link is also. You know. A good option.


	12. Home (paint all the colors, watch them blend)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NORMALLY ID UPDATE ON SATURDAYS but it's fine, I feel like you all deserve this epilogue anyways.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and for sticking with this fic that...well, I know it's pretty different from a lot of other post-BOTW fics out there! I wanted to explore that idea of "what happens AFTER you fulfill your destiny?" I wanted to explore a Zelda who was confused about her place in the world, who didn't quite know how she fit into a place that had changed so drastically without her.
> 
> So yes. I don't have much else to say besides thank you. This fic kept me company while I was trying to find myself, and I'm still not too sure what message it leaves with you at the end, but I hope it's one that speaks to you. 
> 
> And one last note - I wrote this entire fic while SOLELY listening to the band Lydia, which is one of my favorites of all time. I think the tone of their songs really influenced the tone of this fic. If you get a chance, listen to I've Never Seen a Witch, Sunlight, and Paint My Mind. Those songs were particularly influential.

A single Silent Princess blooms at the edge of Firly Pond. It comes in with the spring, unfurling delicate petals late one night when no one is looking. Before long, the flower grows so tall that it looks as if it had always been there, living the stubbornly long life Silent Princesses are known for.

There is no need to take a picture, because it’s a sight Zelda will get to see for many days to come.

No one notices the flower’s appearance besides her, but its appearance is too serendipitous to be anything other than a sign of Hylia’s blessing. The flowers are still a rarity across every part of Hyrule, but Zelda sees more of them in her travels than she used to.

Riju has grown to love them too, enough to declare an order that no Gerudo is allowed to pick one without being fined heavily. It’s a little extreme for Zelda’s tastes, but she appreciates the sentiment.

Speaking of Riju, she should be arriving any moment. Zelda slips her feet out of the cool waters of Firly Pond and treks back up the hill, letting sun-warmed grass dry off her feet.

Why wear shoes, when her home is just a few steps away?

Sidon dwarfs her poor doorway standing in front of it the way he does. He breaks into a sharp-toothed grin at the sight of her. “Zelda!” he shouts, waving with his entire arm. “You’re just in time, my brilliant friend! Come in so we can all eat!”

Zelda smiles back, wondering if her own grin is even a fraction as bright as Sidon’s. There’s a warmth in her chest that runs deeper than anything else she’s ever known. 

Sidon steps away from the door and bows, gesturing for her to come in. She accepts the gesture with a laugh and a small curtsy of her own, knowing that chivalrous gestures like that are simply part of who he is. She saw him do the same thing to Purah when she came in earlier, bouncing in with all the energy her now seven-year-old body possesses.

That same energy is felt in every part of her house, as so many of her dearest friends sit gathered around the massive table that takes up most of the space in the main room of this house. Light streams in through the windows and the cooking fires from the kitchen carry in the smell of Goron spices and fresh Zora River fish.

A chorus of greetings meet her once she fully steps inside, a collision of voices from every corner of Hyrule. They go back to their own business within moments, but just the simple fact that they all know her by name is so different than where she stood a year prior.

Princesses were never afforded the luxury of friendship, just lonely castles and trainings that sapped the strength out of her limbs day after day.

Yet here Zelda is, well-rested and in a home where she can have her friends - and how many there are! - over for dinner in the house she shares with the man she loves.

In her wildest dreams, she would not have given herself something this sweet.

Eventually a voice speaks from her side. “You’ve completed more journals, I see,” Riju comments, casting an admiring gaze at the two bookshelves tucked next to Link’s weapon mounts. The Scimitar of the Seven glints in the afternoon sunlight, as proud and as powerful as Urbosa ever was.

Their mementos to their fallen friends stand side-by-side: Link’s weapons, and Zelda’s stories.

“Two more since you’ve last been here,” Zelda says, approaching the emptier bookcase. Every row but the topmost one is barren, waiting to be stacked full of stories. There are only six making their residence in it - her father’s two journals, and the four she’s written since the end of the Calamity. Her old journals remain in Hyrule Castle, left there for the winds of time to take whenever they please.

Riju has to stand on the tips of her toes to reach the shelf, but she manages to grab the newest journal. She flips through it quickly, scanning through the dozens of pages that are covered top to bottom in Zelda’s looping scrawl. She didn’t leave a single page blank, a fact she’s somewhat proud of.

“Amazing,” Riju murmurs to herself. “You spend most of your time planning for Hyrule’s future, and yet you’re still almost as fast as my best scribes.”

“I love chronicling our history,” Zelda explains, a little embarrassed by the praise. 

Riju smiles and hands the journal back to Zelda, who then returns it to its proper location. “That reminds me. I think one of my scribes is almost done transcribing our older legends into Hylian. I’ll make sure to send a messenger over to give you the copy as soon as she finishes.”

Zelda makes no effort to fight the broad smile that takes over her face. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my vela.”

_ Vela _ \- Riju’s newest name for Zelda, these past few months. It’s a common Gerudo word, that to Zelda’s knowledge translates roughly to “bond-sister.” Not a sister by blood, but one that may as well be.

“The roasted voltfruit is finally done,” Teba’s voice calls out. “You two better come over here.”

Riju’s eyes light up with the excitement of a child and she rushes over to the table. Zelda follows behind her, caught up in her enthusiasm. She takes one of the few remaining empty seats, settling in next to Paya. It warms Zelda’s heart to see her relax - as much as Paya can relax at a dinner party larger than three people - and offer Zelda a small smile and a greeting. Aside from Purah, she’s the next person over the most often. The other seat next to Zelda is, as it always will be, reserved for Link, who keeps darting between the kitchen and the dining room to set an ever-growing number of dishes down in front of everyone.

From Paya’s other side, Impa regards Zelda warmly. “Every time I see you, you only seem to glow brighter,” she says. “You almost make me want to take up Purah on her offer to de-age me.”

“Which you  _ should _ , you know! I’ve seen raisins less wrinkly than you, Impa!” Purah shouts from across the table.

“And I’ve seen toddlers with more manners than you, Purah,” Robbie bites from next to her. Somewhere further down the table, Saki quietly reprimands Tulin for laughing at them.

“Now friends, isn’t this meant to be a time for celebration? I love the jokes, but we should be celebrating each other and thanking Link and Zelda for their hospitality, not tearing each other down!” Sidon pleads, and judging from the way Yunobo nods eagerly next to him, he looks ready to launch fin-first into a monologue about the power of trusting your friends. 

Sidon takes in a very audible breath at the same time Kass says, “I once heard a song about that very topic! Would you like to hear it?” 

“Oh, of course! You know how dearly I cherish your songs, Kass,” Sidon says, beaming his trademark grin. Kass stands and moves over to the many piles of bags in the corner of the room, searching through it for his accordion.

“Free dinner _ and _ live entertainment? Zelda, it seems that you’ve done it again.” Bolson says, echoed by Karson’s eager agreements. Even baby Madison, perched on his lap, coos in something that sounds incredibly like an agreement. Rhondson absently pats her daughter’s head, but returns to the argument she’s currently embroiled in with Aliza.

Finally, Link sets the final dish on the table - a giant piece of roasted boar, the same meat he’s been diligently preparing for the past day and a half. He spent almost a week in the grasslands of Faron, searching for the largest boar he could find just to feed everyone. It’s the centerpiece of this dinner, surrounded by side-dishes and drinks from every corner of the land. He sinks into the seat next to Zelda with a relieved sigh and gently pushes her shoulder.

She clears her throat, the simple sound gaining every single person’s attention. “Thank you for coming, everyone. I know you all must be hungry, having waited for so long, but the food is finally done. Shall we eat?”

“Yes,” Link answers immediately, eliciting a fair amount of laughter. He hops back onto his feet, ignoring whatever exhaustion she’s certain he must feel in favor of getting as much food packed onto his plate as possible. Many others follow him, though maybe not with the same feral quality he possesses whenever he gets too hungry.

And so Zelda and her friends, this eclectic group of people from every corner of Hyrule, share a meal. Some hail from relics of her past, some are snapshots of her present, and others remain promises of a future she has yet to meet. They are all dear to her heart.

The work is not easy. Zelda has spent the past few months embroiled in more meetings than she’s endured in her entire life. The other races were confused at first with her decision - why anyone would willingly instigate what they saw as a power vacuum was beyond them - but they have grown to be more understanding with time.

She has slowly cobbled together a council of leaders from across the land to make decisions of behalf of all of Hyrule. Zelda oversees the council, but her lone vote carries no more weight than anyone else's. Paya has officially taken over Impa’s seat on behalf of Kakariko as of this past month, joining the mayor of Hateno, the chief of Lurelin, and the delegate from Tarrey Town as a voting member. The sixth voting member is a delegate on behalf of the stables across from Hyrule - while they’ve agreed to change the stable delegate yearly, Canni from Outskirt Stable is the current member. She doesn’t have the wisdom of leadership that many other members have, but she has potential. A delegate from each race sits on the council as well, though they’re unable to vote.

It’s not perfect, and everyone is still trying to figure out how exactly to move forward, but the shared weight of responsibility seems to be something everyone is grateful for. Zelda no longer has to buckle under the weight of the crown on her own.

Hyrule Castle and its surrounding town remains in ruins. For now, there are bigger matters to attend to: clearing the roads of monsters to facilitate easier travel, figuring out methods to improve communication between the east and west parts of Hyrule, and determining plans to keep their already small population from diminishing any further are some of the main concerns. The council agrees on one thing, and that’s how the restoration of Castle Town can wait until there’s a big enough population to need a new town.

Many have asked her about the crown and whether it’ll ever be restored, and she is thankful that they have accepted her answer.

At the very least, she will not take it. If her daughter chooses differently, or if her daughter’s daughter does, then maybe the royal family will be restored once again.

But Zelda has never wanted to be a princess, and in one hundred and eighteen years, that fact has not changed.

She is many other things: a scholar, a councilwoman, a scientist, a chronicler, someone just outside the confines of childhood. She is a sister, a friend, a lover.

She is more than a prophecy, a destiny that she was shackled to throughout her life. She is the descendant of Hylia, the Goddess that guides her people still, but she is more than the Triforce etched into her hand.

She is, quite simply, herself.

*

_ You told me all you'd do if you could, _

_ I said, "I hope you find something that is good," _

_ And if you lose your way out there a few times, _

_ Yeah you should be alright, you'll be fine. _

_ So pour out that poison inside your head, _

_ And paint all the colors, watch them blend. _

 


End file.
